The Darkness Closing In
by redflame1020
Summary: After an exceptionally difficult night, Beka considers the unthinkable, but finds help where she least expects it. Then, after months away from the Kennel, she takes a surprising job offer.
1. Part One: The Black God's Choice

**Part One: The Aftermath**

**Chapter One: The Black God's Choice**

"Water, water everywhere," I quoted to myself, at wit's end. Trudging through the mud and Gods-only-know what else, I shivered, soaked to the bone. My heart lay like a stone in my chest, solid and cold, colder than the rain puddling in my boots. An odyssey through the grime finally ended when I reached my boarding house and slumped into the building. Even the thought of my bed upstairs could not overcome my exhaustion, and so I stayed in the mud room, leaning against the wall.

Everything was just so _cold_.

I don't know how long I sat, collapsed against the wall. I couldn't move, couldn't move on. The night's work ran in circles around and around in my head, visions of blood and gore, sorrow and desperation, on replay in my head.

"Cooper? Beka?" Rosto stood in the doorway, a pale ghost against a background of darkness. As he stepped closer, my Dog training kicked in, and to this day I remember how his hair clung in thick, wet clumps down his face, how his feet slid silently across the wood floor, how his daggers pressed themselves against the soaked cambric shirt.

He knelt down beside me, hand reaching up to cup my face. As his fingers ran down my cheek, I realized he was wiping away tears I had not known were streaming down my face. Knowing I was crying only made the tears fall faster, and I choked down a sob as I leaned into his shoulder, hiding my face in shame.

"Oh, Beka," he whispered as his arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me closer. His embrace was warm, so very warm; and I leaned into his arms, needing to be closer, needing to feel something, anything at all. I was so cold, so _numb_.

His arms released their hold on me, and I felt my heart start to shatter at the loss of contact. Just as I was about to completely lose my mind, I felt them come around me once more, behind my back and under my knees, and he lifted me up, cradling me like a porcelain doll, like he knew I could break at any moment.

And deep down, I knew I could just shatter at any moment. All I can hear is Goodwin's voice in my head, "_We lose 5 Dogs to the Black God's Choice every year_."

I hope I'm not one of them. But tonight….death seems to be warmer, kinder then life.

His footsteps echoed in the long hall, a dark corridor with no end in sight. I swung in his arms, my hands treaded through his silken locks, head in the crock of his neck. I felt him shift me to one side, and I knew we were at my door. I reached into my belt purse and handed him my key, before returning to nestling in his arms, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth on this dark night. I heard my door click open, and Rosto quickly closed and locked it. He strode across my room, placing me gently back on my feet. I kept my eyes downcast, meekly standing there, my hands still on his shoulders.

"Gods above, Beka, you're soaked," he murmured. His fingers found their way under my chin, lifting my gaze to look into dark eyes, crinkled with worry.

"You are too," I murmured, but he ignored me.

"We've got to get these cloths off of you, ok?"

Annoyance sparked in my chest, "I can take care of myself."

He looked at me with a gently mocking expression, "Really? Just how long were you sitting in the hallway, anyway?" I gave him a blank stare. We both knew I didn't know.

Rosto waited for a moment; then sighed. His hands ran down to my tool belt, untying it from around my waist, and then reaching down to the bottom hem of my shirt, pulling it up over my head. I looked at my dirt covered hands, and noticed how sharply they contrasted with the pasty white of the rest of my skin. I looked down, and the bruising over my torso was nearly as black as the grime coating my palms.

All the while, Rosto continued to strip me down to my underclothes, tossing my wet uniform onto a chair.

"Do you have a towel here?" he gently questioned. With a grim humor, I noticed he spoke with the same tone my brothers did when they were attempting to calm a panicking horse.

"Yah, over in the dresser." He walked over to get it, and I followed close at his side. Rosto stopped and turned, looking me in the eye.

"Beka, do you need to talk, beca…"

"No," I cut in. "No, everything is fine. Absolutely fine."

He shot a wry look to me, "Because you're handling this absolutely perfectly."

I glared, "Not all of us have killed so much we can smile at breakfast without a glimmer of guilt." Even as I said it I'd known I'd gone too far. Fear, exhaustion, and frustration had made my anger sharp and my tongue sharper.

Rosto had his back turned to me, his shoulders tight, hands fisted before his on the bureau. "Because we're friends," he started, throat constricted with anger, "and because I know your head's all messed up right now, I'll let that go." At this he turned on his heels, and his eyes bore down on me, "But if you value whatever there is between us, you won't risk making a comment like that again." Walking out the door, he shut the door solidly behind him.

I sank to the floor. _What had I done?_

The knife sat on the table in front of me, polished and sharp. _It's a good blade_, I thought to myself. I admired how the gentle curve of the mahogany handle accented the hard lines of the blade. Modest engravings cast stark shadows across the pommel, the etched words of good luck twisted, adulterated by the darkness. I hadn't bothered to light a candle, and the faint moonlight coming in my window provided a meager defense against the gloom.

The blade shines, so bright. It glows in a room that devours the light. Who would have guessed that not three (four? five?) hours ago blood had marred its smooth surface, worked its way into the cracks in the wood handle. The blade had struck out of the man's chest like a gravestone thrusts out of the ground, disturbing the clean lines of the horizon.

How did the blade get in my hands? When did I move from sitting on the floor to crouching in the windowsill, where I could see the world cast into black and white, drained of color? When had it stopped raining? I looked at my wrist, so small, rivers of blood pulsating beneath a fragile layer of skin.

Even in this monochromatic night, blood would scream with color. I could picture the red streams moving down my blade, the crimson stains that would grow on my floor. The thought of death was surprisingly beautiful, a chance for me to escape. No more pain, no more crying.

I cast my gaze out over the city, my part of the city, with all of its chaos and order, bakers and butchers and beggars, all in one strangely beautiful conglomerate. Who would take care of my people? I put my blade down.

They need me. So I will stay.

But I need help.


	2. Part One: I Dreamed a Dream

**Part One: The Aftermath**

**Chapter 2: I Dreamed a Dream**

Gods above, does he sleep like the dead?

I pounded on Rosto's door, and held back the urge to scream. We couldn't wake the neighbors, especially when said neighbor is a mage with a propensity for fire spells.

"Rosto," I hissed out, "Gods all damn it, Rosto, I _need_ you!" I stopped and listened. I heard nothing, not a peep, squeak, or shuffle. Anger rushed through me as I realized he was ignoring me(for who couldn't have heard the ruckus I was making?), and I spun on my heal, storming back to my room.

Or I would have, had I not run into a solid wall of muscle.

"Looking for someone?" Rosto asked, looking down at me, face expressionless.

I tried to speak, but my throat constricted, holding back tears. When did I become so emotional? I clamped down on my emotions; the useless sorrow would pollute the words I needed to say. Rouge or not, Rosto was my closest friend, and I couldn't afford to lose that friendship.

"Rosto," I forced out, "I…I just…" The speech I had carefully planned in my mind crumbled under my fear, my anguish. There was only one thing to say.

"I killed I man tonight," I whispered. A damn inside me broke, and sorrow engulfed me; battering my soul, breaking my heart. Alone in the ocean of my agony, I drifted at mercy of unfeeling currents, currents beyond my control, and I knew I could drown at any minute.

"Come here, you," I heard, and a familiar embrace encompassed me, "I will never let you go."

Somehow we ended up back in my room; I tucked into bed, and Rosto looking for…something.

"What are you looking for?" I murmured out

"A bedroll," Rosto said, shoulders tight. I sat up nervously.

"Why?" I finally managed to inquire.

"I don't want you to be alone tonight."

"I can take care of myself," I shot back. He turned to me wearily, and then sat on the edge of my bed. His fingers threaded through my hair, and he gently caressed my face.

"Beka, either you want my help, or you don't," he finally said. "I can't force you to let me stay, but trust me when I tell you this: you will want me to be here with you tonight." I sat, thinking. Rosto didn't rush me; he simply leaned back on his elbows, toying with my sheets.

"Ok," I finally said, "Stay here. But this won't get out, right? My Dogs think it's great I live close to the Rouge, but I don't know how they'd react if they heard you stayed the night."

Rosto smiled, but there was a hard edge to his grin. "Believe me when I tell you I'm intimately familiar with the boundaries of our relationship." He stood up, then resumed his search for a bedroll.

I paused, unsure of how to break my bad news to him. "Um, Rosto?"

"Yah?"

"I don't have a bedroll." He stopped where he was, then turned to look at me. When it became obvious he didn't plan on saying a word, I continued. "You know, you could just sleep with me." A cheeky grin split his face. As he opened his mouth to say something wildly inappropriate, I cut him off.

"Not like that!" I inserted, avoiding his snappy comeback with ease, "I'm just saying, if you're already going to be sleeping in my room, you might as well be comfortable."

"Fine, Rebecca, take the fun out of it all," he retorted. A serious look fell over his face, "Are you sure?"

I paused, a sixth sense telling me my answer meant more than I thought it did. "Yah, I'm sure." Rosto did nothing, apparently shocked by my answer, but after a moment he started to strip down. Clad only in his loincloth, he waltzed over to the bed. I had a few seconds to admire his…_figure_ before he reached the bed, and I had to look at his face, as is proper.

"Move over," he commanded, lifting the covers off me and sliding under with practiced ease. Annoyance flashed trough me as I considered how many other women he had practiced that slick move with, but I quickly stamped down the emotion. _He's not mine_ I reminded myself. _I have no right to care about who he's sleeping with. _I shuffled my body to the other edge of the bed, and lay down flat on my back, reveling in the awkwardness of the moment. Rosto seemed not to have a care, as he stretched his body for head to toe, arching his back like a cat. He glanced towards me, and started to say something, but cut himself off.

"What, Rosto?"

"I'm glad you're alive, Beka," I looked into his eyes, and knew he knew every detail of what had happened tonight. Shame washed over me, and I leaned into his shoulder, crying myself to sleep.

_The sun shone directly through my window, filling the room with a warm glow. The pigeons sitting in the windowsill had no strange stories to tell, just a few old men who had passed peacefully during night, and hadn't yet realized they were dead. By nightfall they will have moved on. _

_ I turned, and food was laid out on the table in front of me; apple pies, Danishes, croissants, fresh fruit, and more. However, a strange meowing caught my ear, and there stood Pounce, pacing back and forth across my threshold, dying to go outside. I let him out of my room, and he jolted down the stairs. However, he then stopped and looked back._

_ He was waiting for me._

_ I quickly grabbed a roll off the table, and ran after my cat, laughing with girlish glee. I meandered out the front door, glowing with joy and contentment. A flower poked its head out of the foundation, and I reached down to get it. As I kneeled in the dirt, admiring my find, I heard something shifting above me, and looked up_

_ An eye-less face stared back at me, teeth showing in a macabre grin, bones poking out of decomposing flesh. A bloodied sword hung at the corpse's side, and a mangled hand suddenly shot out and grasped the hilt. The jaw shook, and a series of incomprehensible moans and screeches sounded out, a musical of death and dying. As the carcass began to rise, putrid flesh fell off in sheets, revealing the rotten remains of intestines._

_ I turned to run from the ghastly site, yet I froze with terror. Hundreds of bodies stood before me, smothering the streets, attacking the living; a grotesque parade from the underworld. I spun, desperately searching for an avenue of escape, but the game was over. Panicking, I could only stand and scream as the corpses pulled me down. Though I fought, I fell before the masses. Pined to the ground by countless rotten digits, I could only scream as a corpse, dead for only a few hours, stalked towards me, a knife sticking out of its chest. It grabbed the mahogany handle, and ripped it from the flesh. The dead slaver laughed as the knife rose high in the air above its head, and I screamed for mercy as the blade shot down…._

I sat bolt upright in bed, sweat dripping down my spine. A hand landed on my shoulder, I leaped out of bed, throwing a punch as I went. A yelp sounded out, and I realized too late where I was, or, rather, who was with me.

"Shit!" I proclaimed, "Gods all damn-it, are you ok?" Muttered profanities answered me, and I decided that if I had hurt him bad enough that he needed help, he would have told me by now. I continued standing, my whole body shaking as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. Rosto lay where he had crumpled in my bed, continuing to moan obscenities.

In an attempt to calm myself down, I resorted to lightening the mood. "What, can't take a hit?"

"I can take a hit when I'm talking, brawling, walking, eating, and dosing! When I'm so very wonderfully warm and sleeping under the blankets, I have earned myself the right to swear and complain when hit."

"Ah." I continued standing instead of going back to bed. Seconds turned into minutes as Rosto made himself comfortable once again.

"Nightmare?" Rosto quietly inquired.

"Yah." Silence echoed through the room.

"…Do you wanna to talk?"

"No." Another lengthy pause ensued as Rosto stared me down, his black eyes recording my ever twitch. I could tell he wanted me to talk to him, but the night's events remained far too fresh in my mind. If I talk, I might crack, and I have a busy day tomorrow.

"Do you wanna come back to bed? I can think of a variety of things that could _entertain_…."

"No!" I stood, shaking. He watched. Sooner or later, one of us would have to relent, and I was determined not to lose. Something, anything, was bound to go right tonight, and I would count a petty win in a useless argument as the best accomplishment I'd made all day. Finally he began to speak, but I was too busy gloating to hear what he was saying.

"Wait, could you repeat that?" Rosto gave me a wry look.

"You know, most people would kill to spend a night with me. They'd hang onto my every word, dote on my every need, and kiss all my wounds better."

"You also have to pay them a silver noble or two for the night." Hearing his bark of laughter settled my nerves, and I moved back towards the bed. Once I was in reach, Rosto's arm shot out, and flipped me over, placing me between him and the wall.

"Sleep tight, darling Rebecca," he murmured, and he tucked me under the blankets before withdrawing to his side of the bed. I sat in the darkness, surprisingly afraid of the lack of human contact; the darkness drawing closer to me. In fear I turned on my side, attempting to bridge the precious inches between Rosto and I. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, laying at the edge of the divot his body created in the mattress.

"Rosto?" I nervously ventured.

"Um?"

"Will it come back….the nightmare, I mean."

He turned to face me, and we ended up pressed together under the blankets.

"Probably", Rosto answered. He must have felt me tense up, for his arm moved so it was lying across my waist, pulling me even closer.

"But I'll be here for you, no matter what time of the night you need me." Then he kissed me, long and slow.

I couldn't find the will to stop him, and instead leaned into his embrace, storing the moment of utter bliss deep in my mind.

I just hope I don't get my heart broken.


	3. Part One: Folly, Fury, and Flashbacks

**Part One: The Aftermath**

**Chapter 3: Folly, Fury, and Flashbacks**

I woke in a tangle of limbs, a large body pressing down on me…

_The drugs addle my mind as he eases my pants off. _

…_let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go….._

"_Shhh, little one," he croons, gazing down on my body in sick admiration, "You know you want it. You know this is exactly what filthy, sluty bitches get when they ask for it." Disgust and shame rip through me, and I tried once more to buck him off me, but my limbs felt like led and my kick missed his head by a foot. I tug at the chains binding my arms to the bed, but it was a hopeless maneuver. I am trapped; pinned down like a calf at the slaughter._

_"Please, please have mercy," I beg, desperation overcoming my pride. "Please, don't do this."_

_Wild eyes gave me my answer. There was no way out. No help._

_"Please, please, please, please, please….."_

"Beka, please what?" Jerking back into consciousness, I looked up into coal black eyes, filled with worry.

"Please, could you let me up? Gods, you're such a bed hog," I retorted, shaking off the memories. World weary chagrin was the only answer I received.

"So funny, Cooper; you're not good enough at changing the subject to fool me," he rolled back on his side, golden locks fanning out on the pillow, framing his face. It's no wonder so many girls flock to his bed. He's a pretty sight to wake up to. Instead of getting distracted, I jumped out of bed, bee lining towards my dresser.

"You're getting into uniform this early in the day?"

"Yah. Goodwin wants us to report in for an evaluation, and who knows how long that will take. I might not have time to come back here and change before Watch." I replied.

"Us?"

… _as I lingered, peering into the shadows, Ersken kept walking, and as he turns a corner he leaves my line of sight. I step forward, positive that there had been a man lurking in the murky depths of the darkness…_

I shuddered, an innocent question dredging up emotions I had managed to shove aside. "Anyone who was on site last night. The higher-ups want to take reports immediately."

"You better get going then," he murmured, taking his daggers from the dresser and buckling them onto his forearms. Still shirtless, he walked across the room, placing a gentle kiss on my lips before sliding his shirt over his head, easing the cuffs over the daggers at his wrists.

I walked out then, before I decided staying was a better idea than going.

"Cooper," Goodwin greeted me as I trudged into the kennel. She tossed her paperwork aside, and strode over to my side. "How are you doing?" Her eyes caught mine, daring me to try to lie.

"It's been rough. I'll get through it though. Don't really have another choice, do I?" She chuckled at my dark humor.

"You'll get through it fine, girl. Come on, there's someone you have to talk to."

"I thought we were all presenting our reports as a group?"

"Everyone will be. Everyone but you. You get to do a one-on-one interview with a qualified proctor."

Putting a hand on her shoulder, I stopped our march to the offices. "I can do my job, Goodwin. You know I can."

She ran her figures through her hair, for a moment looking older than I believed she could. "Beka," she began, "last night…shouldn't have happened. We can't ask Dogs to cope with something like that on their own. Believe me, I hate putting you through this; I think coping is something people need to deal with on their own time. In the Goddess's Temple we've learned the hard way that no two people cope in the same way." Here she gave me another look I couldn't quite place. "But it's policy: if dogs are captured and subjected to any kind of traumatic situation, they have to be evaluated. Period, end of story."

Here I shrugged, "Policy is policy. I get that."

"That's way I'm taking you off patrols for at least a week."

Suddenly numb, I stared at her like a simpleton. "What?" I finally whispered, praying I heard her wrong.

"After this, go home. Sleep. Eat. Hang out with your friends, crooked though they may be. Get your head sorted out, come here every few days for an evaluation, and when I decide you've adjusted well, and are not a liability, you'll be back on the regular rotations." I just stood there, speechless. Goodwin looked at me in concern, "You'll be on paid leave, so you won't have to worry about money. You'll still get your cut of the Happy Bag. Just think of it as a free vacation, funded and mandated by the government."

Finally I snapped out of my head. "I don't want a break. I want to work. I want to do my job."

"You will be doing your job: getting better fast so you can go out and catch Rats again." Goodwin's face grew unnaturally stern. "And I swear, Rebakah Cooper, if I hear of you going rouge on me and patrolling out on your own, I will put you under house arrest. I'll have Dogs watching you all day every day until you're better. Understand?" Reluctantly I nodded, seeing no way to avoid the orders. After a moment, as if she was making sure I had no final protestations, she said,

"Good. Come along now, like a good Dog."

We entered a small office that was apparently being used for storage, boxes of riot shields piled along the walls. A single mage-light lit the room, casting a small woman into shadows. Mouse brown hair flopped over haunted eyes set above arching cheekbones.

"Goodwin," the woman acknowledged, not deigning to rise from her seat.

"Morana," Clary responded, unusually terse.

Shrewd eyes turned to me, slowly analyzing every inch of me before flickering up to Goodwin once more. "This is she?" she demanded.

"Yes."

"Then we are set here. Thank you, guardswomen, for your help," Morana stated, clearly dismissing Goodwin, who shot one last glare in Morana's direction. Goodwin turned to me, "You call out if you need me, yah? I won't go far." I nodded, Goodwin's concern making me even more nervous. She left, abandoning me with the stranger.

She gracefully rose to her feet, standing a full head shorter than myself. A sensible cambric shirt was tucked into dark brown riding pants; simplistically elegant boots encased her feet. "Are you going to sit down?" she asked impatiently. Pulling a sheet of papers off the desk in front of her, she lazily flipped through them, waiting for me to settle in.

"You're Rebekah Cooper, yes?"

I thanked the Gods that my shyness had become more manageable in the passing years. "Yes."

"A five-year Dog, yes?"

"Yes." She continued like this for a while, asking me basic yes/no questions about my life. Gradually I had to give longer and longer answers, slowly I had to give my own opinion. After a turn of the hour glass I realized I had begun to talk more than her, offering up details and stories she had never asked for.

"How do you think my Lord Gershom has affected your life so far?" I didn't answer for a moment, trying to get my thoughts in order.

"You're not here to talk about my Lord, are you?" Her eyes narrowed in her face, and I realized I had surprised her.

"No," she finally responded. "No, I'm not. So let's cut to the chase, yes?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "What happened to you last night?"

"Nothing that's any of your business." A sharp grin spread across her face, "Actually, it is my business. If you ever want to work on the streets again, I have to assure your corporal that you won't get anyone killed because you're flashing back and have no clue what's going on in the real world."

My jaw clenched, "I coping just fine, thank you."

"You are? Well, then you won't mind informing me exactly what happened last night, will you? How did it feel as Seth Maurer held you down and pulled…."

_"Please, please, please," the phrase becomes my mantra, whispered to whatever god might hear my pleas. Unbidden, prayers drop from my lips, "Please Goddess, take mercy on your daughter. Please, Mirthos, take justice upon those who break you holy laws. Please, Peaceful One, look down on your scion with…"_

_A hand presses down on my throat, clenching off any last words I might wish to throw to the heavens. A knife appears at the edge of my vision._

_"Gods don't take mercy on upstart bitches who ask for it. Your filthy mouth soils their names as they pass from your lips. The gods are punishing you; they need me to do this. I'm their living tool."_

_For the first time, I looked directly into his red-rimmed eyes. "You're pox-rotting insane. A murderous crack-nob 'ho get's off on dousin' 'hoever he can." Panic had me slipping into Cesspool chant, and in a moment of terrifying clarity, I thought that My Lady would be proud of me holding onto my civilized side for so long._

_To my shame, he laughed, "You think I haven't heard that line before? Only a select Few understand the cause. All the rest must be punished." He smiled down at me, cutting off my breast band in an eerily practiced maneuver. Tears roll down my face as he reaches down, his hand reaching for my…._

"COOPER!" My head snaps back as a hand cracks across my face. A firm palm pressed up against my chin, and I found myself looking into the very angry eyes of one Clary Goodwin. She turned to Morana, "This examination is over." Grasping my arm, she pulled me out of the room and into her own office. She sat me firmly down into a chair, and then a glass of cider found its way into my hand. "Drink, Beka. It will settle you stomach." Suddenly I realized my gut was all knotted up. Wishing once more that I would grow up to be Clary Goodwin, I sipped at the cider, hands shaking.

"I told her to be gentle with you. Apparently she didn't listen." I looked up, and winced as I saw the set of Goodwin's shoulders. She was itching for a fight. For a moment, I felt bad for Morana; she didn't know whom she had messed with. As though she felt my stare, Goodwin turned to face me, an almost motherly look crossing her face.

"Go home, Cooper. Get some sleep. Have Erskin escort you there, ok?" I obeyed, too tired to argue. On my way out the door, Goodwin inserted her last words.

"Get better soon, Beka. We can't afford to lose Dogs like you."


	4. Interim Chapter: Journal Entries

**Interim Chapter: Journal Entries**

Monday, July 14, 252

_Ersken escorted me home today, following Goodwin's orders to the letter. He refused to leave and return to his watch until after he had made sure I was in my room and the door was locked. I had hoped that he would distract me from the ill news of the day. It's not that he didn't try to lighten the mood; no, he tried much too hard. The puns and idioms he spewed out in desperation did nothing for the situation._

_ Yet, the look of pity in his eye was harder to endure then all the puns in the world._

_Wednesday, July 16, 252_

_ Fed the pigeons. Today, nearly all the birds carried spirits, with the recent plague victims crying out for a second chance at life. As I listen to them, and try to help them move on, I can't help but thank the Gods none of my siblings have caught the disease, and beg for it to pass us by altogether. As there are fewer reports of new cases, the healers predict that soon the sickness will leave Chorus all together. The Watch Commanders will probably throw a party as soon as there are no more infections in the city. Because many of us Dogs share lodgings, and often share meals together, many fell prey to the infection. Luckily, there has been a very high survival rate, but the sick guards are not in any condition to return to watch. Those who haven't been sick have been forced to pick up extra watches, for the Fourth Watch simply did not have enough guards to protect the entire city. It has been a logistical nightmare. Ersken and I have been walking double watches for nearly three weeks now, and the work load has taken its toll. The only good side of my probation is that I now have the chance of catching up on some lost sleep._

_ Now if only I could fall asleep. _

_Saturday, July 19, 252_

_ Talked to the pigeons, visited the dust spinners. No news. Ersken is still on double watches, and Kora is running around the city doing healings. Aniki and Rosto are busy trying to maintain order in the streets, trying to prevent chaos from breaking out in response to the exhaustion of the Dogs._

_ I sit around, trying to find something helpful to do. I would go to the Kennel and ask to work on some paper work, but I have a meeting with Morana today, which I find myself avoiding. After last time, I don't think I ever want to talk to her, or even see her, ever again. Its just not my cup of tea._

_Wednesday, July 23, 252_

_ Rosto has been visiting me regularly - dropping by whenever his schedule opens up. He doesn't ever mention our kiss, and he doesn't try for another, but it's clear that he's hoping this turns into something more. Small touches, brief glances, and that look in his eye all speak towards one thing: he wants to be with me._

_ I know I want him. I don't know if I could handle that on top of my probation and … other complications. _

_ I just don't know._

_Thursday, July 24, 252_

_ It's the middle of the night. I cannot sleep. I talked to Goodwin again, and she still refuses to let me back on active duty. She apparently ordered Ersken to report on my well being, and some of the information he gave her concerned her. _

_ Note to self: avoid Ersken until back on watch._

_Saturday, July 26, 252_

_ The plague is dying down, and the guards' ranks are filling out again. A general feeling of exhaustion has hit the city, and everyone is doing the bare minimum of work. The Court of Rouge is encouraging this feeling of apathy, trying to give the city a chance to recover without the fear of theft in the night._

_Friday, August 2, 252_

_ Tunstall is back on watch after he finally stopped vomiting. My Lady Sabine isn't happy(she thinks he needs rest yet), but she knows the Guards need every man we can get. Though I am not cleared, he still walks a watch, pairing up with a Dog from Day Watch whose partner is still sick._

_Friday, August 16, 252_

_ Still no news, from anyone or anything. The pigeons and the dust spinners have no stories worth putting on paper, and everyone is still busy. The only person dropping by for breakfast is Rosto- everyone else remains in bed, trying to catch up on precious hours of lost sleep. Though Rosto and I eat together, it is clear we both wish we could be sleeping. But I hate to close my eyes anymore, and he refuses to let me eat alone. Then he runs off, doing his job, while I sulk in my room- no use to anyone. _

_Thursday, August 24, 252_

_ No news. I just sit in my room, and occasionally venture out for some food. I've stopped asking Goodwin when I can come back, for last time I did she screamed and threw me out, saying that I'd better start showing up for my interviews with Morana if I ever wanted to be a Dog again. I've only skipped three, and if she'd just let me do my job it's not like I would need a head-healer anyway. So, instead, I waste away here, in my apartment, while everyone else works their tails off._

_Tuesday, September 3, 252_

_ I am still avoiding Morana. Goodwin has stopped scheduling any appointments for me. She screamed something about "wasting the King's gold and her time" and how I had once been some "rising star" and now I was simply "another statistic". At this point, the distance between us is so great that it took all my self control not to hit her. _

_ She berates me for abandoning my duties, and fleeing from opposition, but she hasn't dropped by to see me either. I understand that it's been a busy time, and everyone overwhelmed by the work that needs to get done, but she hasn't said a word to me outside of my weekly check-ins. I don't need a Watch Commander screaming at me._

_ What I need is a friend._

_Wednesday, September 4, 252_

_ I have officially been taken off the watch roster, and Goodwin has logged me "on semi-permanent leave". _

_Friday, September 7, 252_

_ Ersken stopped by today for a visit. The only way to describe it was… strange. The watches only returned to full strength about two and a half weeks ago, and so Ersken's life has revolved around his work. I strive to avoid the topic at all costs._

_It was a quiet breakfast._

_Friday, September 20, 252 _

_ The breakfast club has mostly fallen apart. With no need to wander the city at all hours of the night, my sleeping patterns have returned to a more normal rotation. While I by no means go to bed early, I am asleep well before Ersken, Aniki, and Kora. Rosto, however, wakes up remarkably early considering the hours he keeps. He and I often eat together in the Dancing Dove, conversing over breakfast while he looks over spread sheets and reports from the night before. Then, he goes off to meetings (of what nature I know not), and I return to my room, to feed the pigeons. It's remarkably pleasant, and I find myself looking forward to it every morning._

_Monday, September 30, 252_

_` The visits from Tunstall and Ersken have faltered off, neither interesting in watching my descent into madness. With nothing to occupy my days, I mope about in my room, occasionally walking the city. Needless to say, I have somehow become a worse conversationalist then I was. Moreover, stress wears away at my short supply of happiness, and I snap at those I once called friends. My meager stipend pays for the food and most of the rent, but I must pick up the remaining bills. Though I have tried to limit my spending, my nest egg is depleting, and I find myself counting coppers. I need another job, and yet I can't bear to cut off my ties to the guard. Once I take another job, if I wish to rejoin the watch I must recomplete my Puppy years._

_ I don't know if I could swallow my pride enough to do that. I am almost a veteran Dog at this point, and I am respected by my peers and by the people of the city. To repeat my training would make me a laughing stock, and no one would let me live it down._

_Saturday, October 4, 252_

_ I had wished to keep all mention of the … incident out of my diary, but one fact burns away at my soul, and I cannot keep it inside anymore._

_ They haven't caught him._

_ He attacked me, molested me, was about to __rap__ hurt me more, and they can't seem to find him. How can they not, he is off his bloody rocker! How can he be outsmarting them? How can they let him continue to roam the streets? _

_ Meanwhile, I can find no peace. Every time I start to move on, feel some glimmer of happiness, I find myself looking over my shoulder, ensuring that none sneak up behind me. Some days, I seem to feel furtive eyes tracking my every move, yet when I turn no one is there. Goodwin has assured me that the repeated searches of the city and the ongoing investigation have run him out of the city. While my head sees the logic in her argument, my gut screams otherwise._

_ I know this isn't over. I know he's still in the city, somewhere. Someone just needs to turn over the right stone._

_Friday, October 10, 252_

_I spend unreasonable amounts of time in the Dancing Dove. When I'm not working with Rosto(he has me writing letters of little importance to people in far off territories of Tortall), I'm sparring Bold Brian or Phelen. If Aniki doesn't have any errands for me to run, or mending for me to do, I'm helping Kora mix tonics and elixirs. Somehow they have absorbed me into their lives, and it's nice to have something to do. It's nice to belong._

_Friday, October 17, 252_

_ A major heat wave hit, and the entire city swelters in the heat. I should keep writing(I have been very lax about writing entries), but the heat is overwhelming, and I think I will take a nap instead. I'll need the sleep, Rosto needs me to help him with his accounts. He just fired his accountant, and he has no head for numbers…_


	5. Part Two: A Thin Line

**Part Two: New Beginnings**

**Chapter One: A Thin Line**

It was far too hot to do anything.

Beka sat on her bed, her braid pulled over her head so it wouldn't stick to her neck. She sprawled out half naked on her bed, with her shirt off and her loosest pair of pants on. Yet, for all her undress, sweat trickled down every part of her body, creating a salty matrix of rivers and eddies on her skin.

In the heat, the entire world seemed to slow down. The shopkeepers sold their wares with a less than vigorous attitude, their energy depleted by the slow drag of the weather. Even the children collapsed under the temperature, resting in the shade rather than causing trouble in the streets. Burning rays penetrated every corner of the city, and the men in the streets were soured against life. Only the rich could afford to cool in the shade of great trees; the poor had to trudge to work like it was any other day, always fighting to make a living.

Well, the rich and Beka could afford to nap in the shade - paid leave worked wonders like that.

And so she sat….

and sat….

and sat…until a knock on her door broke her out of her silent reverie. Sitting up, she tossed her shirt over her head and shoulders, and stumbled over to the door while tucking in her shirt tails. Checking who it was through a peep hole Rosto had installed on all the doors, she sighed and opened the door. "Rosto." She greeted. He leaned stately against the door jamb.

"Hello, Beka." Rosto pushed past her, brushing his hand over hers as he walked by. He sauntered into her room as if he owned it, leaning against her bureau in a pose of royal repose. Drawing out a small knife from his sleeve (he wore long sleeves even in this boiling heat), he began to clean under his figure nails. "Darling Rebecca," he began, his every move screaming of power, "you've been moping in your room for far too long." His "darling" tensed up, the corners of her lip tightening. "I am not your anything," she responded, uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Details aside," Rosto rolled on, not allowing one small interruption derail his well planned dialogue, "The root of the problem is this: you have become a hermit. This is a cause for concern, don't you think?"

"And what do you plan on doing about it?" Beka challenged, half-joking and half-serious. Here, a wicked gleam entered Rosto's eyes, and she realized her snappy remark was exactly what he expected from her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but it was too late. She had played right into his palm.

"I plan on reminding Goodwin that you're a damn good Dog- and that the Provost's Guard is not the only…let's call it _organization_ interested in your variety of talents." He finished cleaning under his nails, and began flipping the dagger while looking her straight in the eye- never once glancing at the keen weapon that plummeted towards his hand every few seconds.

Her curiosity drove her forward, even as her heart screamed that she might not want to know the answer to her next question. "How do you plan on sending this message?"

Though she didn't think it was possible, Rosto's grin spread even further across his face. With a predatory gleam in his eyes, he asked, "Come to work with me tonight, yah?"

She paused. Accepting Rosto's proposal, it could end her career. She might get cleared by Morana, Goodwin might let her back on rotation, but she would never be the Terrier she once was. Should she say yes, the City would never forget the night she served in the Rouge's Court, and she would be marked as a crooked Dog.

Yet, what kind of future as a Dog did she have anyway? Goodwin had had her on probation for the last three months. She'd not seen an inch of the Kennel in the last three weeks. Even if she were to be cleared this very second, she would not return to the rotations with the gusto she once had. She would feel the sympathetic looks, the empathetic stares, and she would wither under the concern of old friends. Was that really a life she wanted?

The question lay palpable between Rosto and her.

What would Beka's answer be?

"Are you sure this is appropriate?" Beak questioned once more, fiddling with her neckline, trying to cover a little more skin.

"Stop, you look fine! He had this specially made for you, you know." Aniki strode in front of Beka, looking powerful in leggings of black leather, a white silk shirt, and black vest with detailed embroidery. As she stretched, hands extending over her head, Beka caught sight of the outline of a dagger hidden in the small of Aniki's back.

"How did he even get my measurements?" Beka inquired, a little concerned at how well the dress hugged her form. Certainly, Aniki had dragged her off to the seamstress as soon as she heard the news, but only a few small adjustments were made. The dress itself was a warm blue, hugging her form tightly down to her waist, and then flaring out at the hips. The sleeves echoed the dress itself, fitting snuggly down to the elbows, where they flared out into an impractical width. Next, a white, ribbed corset locked around her sternum, and tightly snapped in her waist. A white overskirt was built into the corset, and flowed over the base skirt. The white cotton was woven so finely it was nearly translucent, and had detailed embroidery along the hemline. It was an expensive gift, one Beka still wasn't sure she should have accepted.

"He paid a visit to your grandmother, and got the numbers from her. She has a bit of a temper you know; he said something cheeky and she swung her walking stick at his head. Almost hit him too- she's fast."

Beka winced, but recognized her Grandma in Aniki's description. "Yah, that's Grandma." Still fiddling with the way the dress fell on her body, Beka looked down once more on the swells of her peaches. The dress did nothing to hide her assets. Aniki noticed her concern quickly, then turned around, grabbing her wrists.

"You look exactly like a _gixie_ should when she's about to sit next to the most powerful man in the Lower City." Aniki murmured. "As much as I hate it, anyone in his entourage, sitting at his table, is a display of power. We try to keep the posturing and politics to a minimum, but the people _have_ to remember who's in charge. Otherwise, things get bloody." She let go of her hold on Beka, and made a few adjustments to the dress herself. "So straighten your back, stick out your hip, and act like you deserve to sit next to the Rouge himself." Aniki spun on her heel, and marched the final distance to the Court of Rouge. Beka started to jog after her, but stopped before turning to enter the back door. Instead, she lifted her hands to her hair, checking to make sure the curls were still pinned up gracefully above her head. Then, she took a deep breath, and sashayed her way around the side of the building, entering the Court of Rouge through the front door.

She entered demurely, but confidently, exchanging a flirtatious look with a few men. Walking slowly, but steadily, she approached the table which Rosto, Aniki, Phelen, and Bold Brian sat around, Aniki with a look of confusion on her face. Beka watched as the Queen of the Ladies of the Rouge continually glanced over her shoulder, waiting for Beka to appear.

A street rat to the end, Beka knew one did not simply walk onto the Rouge's dais. Instead, she entered a quick conversation with a waitress. Though the tavern was not empty, it wasn't packed either. With the sun due to set in an hour or so, the main denizens of the Court of Rouge were only just starting work, and weren't expected to enter the tavern for another hour or so. Finally, the call Beka had waited for came.

"Beka," Rosto drawled, drawing more than a few peoples' eyes. "Why do you insist on leaving us all alone? Mirthos only knows what we'll do without your sparkling wit and scintillating conversation." Beka walked over to Rosto's side, taking the hand he offered. Slowly she smiled, and both understood the game they played.

And so the night began.

She never left Rosto's side, her shyness locking her to his side. Rosto didn't seem to mind. In fact, his hand never left her waist and he always introduced her with a possessive.

"Oh, Kyle, have you met my Beka…."

"…indeed, I fear she doesn't know your name. Beka, this is Robin. Robin, this is my friend and neighbor, Rebecca Cooper."

"My dear, this is Cook, which is his name and profession. He makes an apple turnover like no other…"

And so it went, on and on, a never ending stream of introductions and conversations. Finally, the crowd wandered away, still watching the newcomer, but from a distance. Rosto leaned back in a padded chair that was reminiscent of a throne, but still fit in with the surrounding décor. Beka perched on the arm of the chair, a barley water in hand. Currently, they were the only people at the table. Aniki had wandered off with a well-known foist, who Beka assumed was making a report. Kora was off chatting with some fellow healers. Bold Brian had left to flirt with a flower girl who giggled and glowed as he talked to her, obviously appreciating his advances. Watching the way the girl curled up on Brian's lap, Beka had a feeling Brian would not be going home alone tonight.

And Bold Brian wasn't the only one who had found company. People, as they rolled the dice or drank with friends, were pairing off all around the tavern. The dance floor, packed with men spinning their girls, seemed to shudder under the weight of the merry crowd. The whole tavern exuded a feeling of sensuality and forbidden pleasures. Shadowed corners formed playgrounds for vices: gambling, drinking, and sex. A sense of anonymity circled, a feeling that no matter who you were during the day, here in the night, you could be anyone you chose to be.

Beka felt a hand brush along her cheek. "How are you doing?" Rosto murmured, fingers resting under her chin. She smiled at the display of affection. "Just fine, thank you." Rosto returned her expression in kind. "Are you ready to talk business then?" Rosto pressed, a hopeful gleam entering his eye. Then, Beka knew that he was about to offer her a job and a relationship, neither contingent on the other. And she thought she might just accept both.

"I believe I am," she solemnly responded, answering more than one question.

"Good." Rosto eased out of his chair and took her hand, leading her back to a door behind the dais. As they walked, Beka noticed that they had not been alone; Phelen had been watching everything from the shadows. He caught Rosto's eye, and strode over as Rosto beckoned for him.

"Will you require me?" Phelen asked dutifully, and Beka realized that Phelen had been guarding Rosto's back the entire time.

"No, I need you to continue watching the usual targets." Rosto quietly ordered, and Phelen bowed his head in response. As a shadowy alcove reabsorbed Phelen, Rosto opened the door and led Beka up a flight of stairs, closing the door behind them. The stair way led directly to the second floor, with no side hallways or rooms branching off from it. Beka noticed that half way up the stairs, nearly the entire landing above them was visible, and it would be hard to ambush someone walking up the stairs. After the stairs, Rosto led her into a room, which was obviously his own. During the plague, he had slept here more than at the boarding house, and his possessions had followed him. Clothes filled the bureau, and a side table was covered in small knickknacks. Piles of paper hid the desk below them, and a bed in the corner had tussled sheets strewn across it. Rosto pulled the desk chair out, and gestured for her to sit in the reading chair at the end of the bed.

"So what is this business?" Beka said once she settled into her seat.

"I'm sure you know, major investigations always start by scrutinizing every move made by the Rouge- sometimes stings are organized just to make a statement to the criminal on the run." Beka nodded, familiar with the practice. "And so, those few criminals who don't answer to my authority are a danger to not only my position, but to the security of the Court itself. I'm sure you know what would happen should the Court of Rouge fall." Beka imagined the chaos that would ensure, and shivered. Rosto's recruitment speech plodded along. "So, we have decided that we need an internal monitoring system, which would police the actions of those Rats outside of our usual reach."

Beka smiled, both at her understanding of exactly what Rosto wanted and his use of the royal "we". She interrupted him, "It would be so helpful, then, if a guard with the right experience level could organize some sort of patrol which would search for these nefarious beings, yes?'

Rosto grinned right back at her, "It would be so. And I think I know just the girl for the job. However, she hasn't given me an answer yet."

"I think you know exactly what answer you're going to get," Beka shot back, enjoying the give and take.

"Ah, but she hasn't yet signed the contract," Rosto gravely said, and Beka knew working for him wasn't going to be a joke.

"Well then, maybe you should get her a pen," Beka reiterated, sensing that her life was about to begin again.

It turned out that Rosto did have a contract, and he expected her to read it over before she signed. As much she would like to simply sign her name, Beka knew she should thoroughly review the contract before signing anything. And so, they sat together, gossiping back and forth like two old maids sitting on the porch steps. Yet, the hour grew late, the din from the tavern below dying down. The friends' stifled laughter gave way to sheltered yawns, and their boisterous energies mellowed into creeping exhaustion. Finally, Rosto and Beka stood, and exchanged the usual parting phrases. As she walked to the door, Rosto escorted her, and they paused under the door jamb.

"Will you drop by tomorrow afternoon? You can give me your final answer. If you decide to join our motley crew, Aniki and I will begin to debrief you."

Beka smiled up at Rosto, who stood a half a head taller. "Of course I will."

"Good. Sleep tight, Beka." Rosto ran a finger down her cheek, and pulled her in for a parting kiss. Gasping at the sudden contact, Beka froze before leaning into the kiss. His arms encircled her, and Beka longed for them to never leave her skin. Intimate beyond their wildest dreams, the kiss seemed to freeze time.

But, like all moments of beauty, eventually it had to end, "Well," Beka stammered out as she caught her breath, "that was…nice." Rosto only arched an eyebrow, a motion of simplicity which belied a world of meaning. "Nice?" he asked.

"I mean, nice and…uh…" He put her out of her misery, placing a stately figure on her mouth, "Go, Beka, before I decide to convince you to stay." He whispered out, wanton lust underlying his words. Admiring his honesty, yet afraid her own desire to take him up on his offer, Beka pressed a quick peck to his lips, then jogged out onto the dark streets of the Lower City, where her form was quickly absorbed by the shadows.

Distracted by her glee at returning to the job she loved the most, Beka didn't notice the eyes peering out from the darkest corners of the city. _He_ was watching, and he wouldn't lose his prey again.


	6. Part Two: Echoes From the Past

Part Two: New Beginnings

Chapter Two: Echoes from the Past

Morning came bright and early, and Beka rose with the sun. Hands trembling in excitement, she bounced through her morning cleaning. She ventured over to the Dancing Dove for breakfast, but found only a note from Rosto.

"_Beka,_

_Business came up suddenly this morning, but I should be back in time for our meeting. If not, talk to Aniki, and she'll tell you what to do from there._

_Rosto_

_P.S. Enjoy the apple turnover, Cook left it for you._"

The apple turnover was very good. Beka devoured it as she read over the contract a final time. It contained exactly what she expected; a promise to serve for two years, at which point she could chose to walk away or sign up for another two or five years. Beka also found a vow of fealty and a vow of life-long confidentiality written cleverly into the paragraphs of legal jargon, but nothing overtly illegal. Beka realized that, should the contract be broken, Rosto could bring her to court and win a case against her. The guardswoman half of her trembled with anger at the abuse of the system, while the street urchin (who had grown surprisingly dominant lately) laughed at how Rosto manipulated the world to his advantage. Finally, about mid-day, Beka reached for the quill and ink on her desk. Wetting the tip of the pen, Beka leaned over the parchment, and flourished her signature onto the page.

"Cooper."

Beka turned to see none other than Clary Goodwin standing in her doorway. The veteran Dog loomed in Beka's now open doorway. While her trainer towered over Beka in fury, it dawned on Beka who her trainer and friend was; one of the fiercest, most formidable Dogs in the city. And it looked like Clary Goodwin had caught the scent of a Rat. Uninvited, Goodwin stomped into Beka's apartment, slamming the door behind her with enough force to make the frame rattle. Beka straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back. Goodwin had come in with fists swinging, looking for a fight. Beka planned on delivering one.

"Goodwin," Beka spat out, weeks of anger and pain and betrayal weighing down her greeting. Goodwin continued on her path, undaunted by Beka's staunch refusal t be civil. For a moment, Beka thought Goodwin might walk straight into her, but at the last second Goodwin paused inches from Beka's face, eyes gleaming with a fierce light.

"You know, last night the streets were all abuzz with this new rumor. At first I denied it with all my heart, but as the hours passed, a glimmer of worry sank in. As Dogs kept hauling in Rats, they all bore a new spin on the same story. It seems as though half the city saw you in the Dove last night Beka." Goodwin somehow moved even closer, her eyes daring Beka to lie. "And now I ask you: which side of the law claims your loyalty?"

Though no response was given, Beka's hunched shoulders and direct avoidance of Goodwin's eyes confessed enough. The fire drained out of Goodwin. Wearily, she fell back against the wall, allowing its steadfast strength to support her. The monologue continued, this time fueled by deep sorrow, "I guess I have myself to blame. I pushed you to this, didn't I."

For the first time since their stay in Port Caynn, Beka saw weakness in the other woman. "Goodwin, no, I…"

"Don't prattle off excuse to me, girl." Goodwin shot out, returning to a more normal temperament, though her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "I've been hearin' excuse from everyone who's ever failed me, and I don't want to hear them from you." Beka stood in silence.

Goodwin massaged her figures, trying to force the stiffness out of them. "I know why you left, girl," Goodwin sighed, the years apparent on her face. "I know you need to catch him, believe me I want to too. Nothing would have brought me more pleasure than catching that Rat with my bare hands and dragging him before the Magistrates in shackles. But the Dogs were spread too thin; I couldn't devote a task force to your case, Beka. Goddess, we were spread so thin even I returned to the watches for a few weeks. We could barley maintain control of the city, never mind investigate the cases pilling in by the dozens. We're on the case now though; we haven't forgotten you. Tunstall and I have made your case our number one priority. Every Dog on every watch has their noses to the ground, looking for any scent of this cove."

Beka raised her head, her resolve steadfast. "The trail is cold. I know that, you know that. For Gods' sakes, Goodwin, it's been three months."

"It would help if we had ever received a statement," Goodwin pushed.

"I can't give you mine. I can't. I think I would break" Beka whimpered out, shadows of old memories filling her eyes. Goodwin crossed over the remaining inches, and wrapped her arms around her protégé.

"You've had a rough three months haven't you, girl." Sobs were Goodwin's only answer.

"There's our girl!" Aniki greeted as Beka walked through the door of the Dancing Dove. Beka smiled at her, handing over the contract. Aniki opened it quickly to see if she had signed, and then whisked the paper away into some unseen pocket. She then began to jog up the stairs in the back, gesturing for Beka to follow along. At the top of the stairs, Beka noticed Rosto arguing with another man in a corner, but their words were strangely muffled. Even when Beka tried to read their lips, she noticed a strange blur passing over the men's mouths and sje couldn't understand a word they said.

"It's a silencing spell," Aniki said, answering unspoken questions. "It's set into the floor itself, meaning anyone in that corner can speak with ease, knowing no one is listening in." Beka whistled, knowing what a spell of that nature could cost when applied properly. Rosto had spared no expense on fortifying the Dove. Aniki gave her a quick glance as the two friends walked past the Rouge and his subject. "And why, young miss, were you trying to read His Majesty's lips? Feeling bold on our first day, are we? "

Beka blushed in embarrassment, "Well, you didn't hire me to walk the straight and narrow, did you?" Aniki laughed, leading Beka into a small conference room.

The two sat for a while in a meeting room, waiting for Rosto to arrive. Finally he wandered in, hands pressed into his eyes. "I'm going to kill him one day," he proclaimed miserably, and Beka assumed he spoke of the man from the hall way.

"Your mom would kill you if you dared to lay a hand on your brother," Aniki said casually.

"Your brother?" Beka inquired.

"Unfortunately," Aniki and Rosto responded in chorus. The marauders grinned at each other, and then Rosto gestured for Beka and Aniki to come along. They wandered out to the streets, chatting as they strode through the capital city. Wandering through the market and over to a small district of apartments similar to the one Beka called home, the trio arrived at a small house at the boarder of Patten District. Rosto walked right up to the door and led the women in.

"Here, Beka, are your trainees." Hard, street-wise eyes bore into Beka. While Rosto may have chosen all four for this project, there were no similarities between them. Rosto ran off the introductions. Later that night, Beka gathered up all the information Rosto had given her and blended it with the notes she had gathered about the rushers over the years. Here are the notes she made in her diary:

Mack Lamara, alias: Mack the Knife- A master foist with two arrests; one for pick-pocketing, one for aggravated assault. About thirty-eight (and easily the oldest in the group), he has a long history on the streets, growing up in the depths of the Cesspool. Preferred weapon: dirks, a style of dagger from Scanra, a little longer and heavier than the knife preferred by most in the Lower City. Though on the short side, he's heavy with muscle.

John Johnson, alias: none- An up and coming con artist from Tyra. His bright blue eyes strike out from perpetually tan skin. With high cheek bones and a mouth prone to grinning, he uses his good looks to scope out the insides of merchant warehouses. He is one of the best in the city at picking locks and cracking safes- even spelled ones. While he is a semi-powerful mage, he cannot heal. Claims to be proficient with all weapons, and as of yet has shown no preference. Seems to be in his mid twenties, but like many aspects of John, his age is shrouded by lies.

Jiya and Jiyun Crow: Former slaves and Copper Isles Natives, the siblings fled the country and the oppression of the _lurin_ overlords at only ten and nine, respectively. Now about sixteen, Jiya prefers a weapon she calls a glaive, which she learned to bear under a Shang Warrior she met while traveling around the continent. However, because the glaive is difficult to hide and is unwieldy in narrow alleys, Jiya is also highly skilled with knifes. She specializes in breaking and entering, and can slink through the shadows in perfect silence. Jiyun, however, favors the hand-to-hand fighting of the Shang warriors, and carries no weapon at all. Neither sibling will work a job without the other being involved. Both specialize in breaking and entering.

Who was the last conscript to this motley band? Phelen. He sat in the corner, his face unreadable, as Rosto pulled Beka aside for one last word while Aniki chatted with the crew in the kitchen. "You might want to look this over tonight." He handed her a folder, packed to the brim with notes of varying ages. Some of the papers jammed into the pile had yellowed with age, while on other pieces the ink looked as though it had only just dried. She opened the folder, about to read the top page, when Rosto's hand snapped over the words.

"Not now," he chastised, "you've got to deal with _them_." He nodded over to the Rats still joking with Aniki. Beka winced, her shyness rearing up, but she straightened her shoulders and cracked her knuckles. As she strode back to the kitchen, Aniki passed her. "Good luck," Aniki murmured, then she followed Rosto out the front door. The door knob clicked behind them with an ominous snap. Beka faced her new charges and smiled. Only Phelen and John smiled back.

"Well, let's begin, yes?" Thanking the Gods that Aniki and Rosto had given her a brief summary of the general layout of the house, Beka marched confidently through a door into the large backyard. Quickly locating the arms shed, she opened it, walked in, and lifted up a baton. The heavy oaken shaft lay perfectly in her hand, and Beka basked in the moment. This was her weapon, though she didn't know how Rosto had gotten it for her. Flicking her wrist in a familiar strengthening pattern, she faced her charges, who had followed behind her dutifully. She gave a demonstration of how to determine what length of baton fit one's body, then let them chose their own weapon, trusting the thieves long years of weapons training. Once a weapon was chosen, it was quickly covered with a layer of practice padding and she set them up for a drill.

As the sun slowly sunk to the horizon, she demonstrated all sorts of moves. All listened intently, and picked up the motions faster than Beka would have guessed. Rosto had chosen well, for it seemed that all had handled some sort of non-bladed weapon in the past. Because of the odd number, Beka often ran through the drills with Phelen, and after a while the two began to challenge each other, sneaking more advanced techniques into drills at random intervals. Beka let loose a wild grin.

This was where she belonged.

Dinner time approached, and Beka called it a day. Her initial plan had been to follow the Puppy Training Regimen exactly, but upon meeting her trainees and working with them, she realized that the plan needed to change. Most of the conditioning was not needed, for these were warriors hardened physically and mentally by long years on the streets. Even Jiya and Jiyun, the youngest of the group, needed no extreme physical conditioning, and Beka sensed that they were actually the strongest in the group. No training regimen created to wash out wannabe-guardsmen could challenge the intensity of a program created by the Shang warriors.

So, instead of ordering her group to return after dinner, she released them for the day. Mack gave her a look of mild scorn, but Beka simply shook his hand and let the slight pass. She would prove her worth over time. Chatting for a few moments with Jiyun and Phelen, she turned to leave, when she saw it: a small tripwire, nearly invisible, laying about knee height across the door.

Her baton still in hand, she swung the oaken shaft in a complicated pattern as she slowly approached the door. Swiftly, she leapt over the wire, and swung around the corner, quickly catching sight of the bucket attached to the wire, prepared to drop Gods knew what on her unsuspecting head. Scanning the room, grey eyes met a pair of surprised blue, even as in the corner of her left eye she saw a heel disappear up the stairs. Swearing to deal with Johnson later, she put all speed to her legs and sprinted up the stairs. She would show this rag-tag band who was in charge. The chase had begun, and her dignity, reputation, and respect lay on the line.

The Terrier was back on the streets.


	7. Part Two: The Alpha Dog

Part 2: New Beginnings

Chapter 3: The Alpha Dog

**A/N: This chapter will, hopefully, have a slightly different tone to it. A couple of reviews have mentioned that my lack of Lower City vernacular is a fault in the writing, and since I finally got my hands back on my copy of ****Bloodhound**** I actually have a source to get all the street vocabulary I need. So no more excuses and here's the next installment**!

**PS- I will be back tracking through the Chapters, starting from the newest chapters and working forward, in an attempt to straighten out the cultural inconsistencies there as well.**

Sliding around a corner, Beka barely turned in time to see the surprised face of Jiya looking over her own shoulder as she opened a window. The raka sprung off the sill, fingers clutching to the edge of the neighboring roof in a jump of over eight feet. With a burst of strength, the gixie yanked her body up onto the ledge, and Jiya ran across the roofs with years of practice. Beka followed, hot on the heels of her rat, bridging the jump with a surge of adrenaline. As her feet pounded against the tiles, Beka clutched her baton and used it to keep her balance. A soft drizzle of rain danced down from the sky, and made the footing treacherous. Beka knew Jiya had to take to the streets at any moment or risk breaking her neck over a silly prank, and when the mot plummeted to the ground, Beka had to be right behind her or risk losing her prey.

Finally Jiya bailed out into the streets, and Beka admired her decision. Pox and murrain, the gal could think fast, choosing an intersection of 5 narrow allies with the jump leading to open air for nearly three stories. If Beka paused before the jump, to bleed off speed for the long fall or to succumb to a momentary attack of nerves, she would lose any chance at nabbing the girl. For a moment after she landed, Beka feared that Jiya would disappear into the grey drizzle before Beka could regain her footing in the treacherous mud, but the rain worked in the guardswoman's favor. As she cut around a corner, Jiya slipped and sprawled into the mud, and Beka gained a few feet on the girl.

Beka gave it to Jiya, the girl was fast and led a mean chase. Through back alleys and barns, slums and saloons, Beka chased the girl, waiting for her moment. Finally, Jiya made a fatal error. The girl approached a bend in the road, and Beka knew who was in the bend beyond. Putting her fingers to her lips, drawing in a deep breath as her lungs made vehement protests, Beka blasted out a familiar pattern. Two black clad men jogged around the corner looking around for the trouble, and saw Jiya fleeing at full speed.

"Stop in the King's Name!" The taller one called out, and Jiya slammed her heels into the ground, preparing to cut left and flee down another road. Beka didn't stop, but tackled her from behind, and the two fell in a heap in front of Tunstall and Ersken. "Gotcha," Beka panted out.

"Beka?" Ersken questioned. Beka held out a hand to her exhausted friend and helped Jiya up. To her surprise, Jiya had a look of terror on her face, and once on her the girl feet slunk behind Beka with her face averted.

"What's going on here? Beka, why are you letting out the signal for 'fugitive on the run'." Beka thought fast, suddenly regretting involving her former partners.

"My friend and I were just fooling around, and I wanted to let the others of ours know where we were. The chase just had me reverting to old habits apparently, sorry to bother you." Tunstall shook his head, obviously questioning her story, but unwilling to challenge her.

"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered sarcastically, and then his eyes grinned at Beka. "For the record, I don't care who you're working for- we need more eyes on the street no matter who they answer to, but don't make me chase you down, fishpuppy." Blushing at the reminder of old mistakes, Beka nodded in acknowledgement, and then walked away with Jiya, who had still said nothing. They walked back to the house in silence.

Finally they arrived back at the house, after a long walk in silence. With the thrill of the chase drained out of the two girls, they both staggered back in misery, legs burning. By now the rain poured out of the sky, and the two were soaked to the bone and shivering.

"At least the heat is gone," Beka muttered to herself.

"You Tortallians are so delicate. You wither as soon as the sun beams down at you. If you think this is bad, try laboring in Rajumat in the midst of the dry season- then you'll find yourself stinkin' like a pile of scummer," Beka turned to see Jiya grinning at her. The raka continued, "I underestimated you, Terrier. I won't make that mistake again." Beka blushed at the compliment.

"You nearly out-ran me more than once. If I wasn't in my territory, I probably would have lost you," Beka said, feeling a connection with her fellow runner.

The raka's face shown with pride, "I've never been beaten in a footrace. But I also don't plan on challenging you anytime soon." Beka laughed, and then turned to enter the training building. But Jiya called after her, "Wait, Beka." The guardswoman paused, looking back at the girl. Once more Jiya's face was lined with terror, and it seemed to Beka that the eyes of an old women stared out of a child's eyes. "I…I thought you should know," Jiya stuttered out, "I thought you should know that I _can't_ get arrested by the guards. They, they can send me back _there_. And I won't go back. I can't go back. I'd rather lie dead in the mud then be a slave."

Beka's hand landed on her shoulder, "I have no intention of getting anyone arrested. And I promise you, if something happens I will go to my Lord Provost and threaten to bring all the power of the Rouge down on the city before I will let them send you back."

Then the two entered the building, no more words needing to be said.

"Oi! Who won?" Mack cried out, looking up from his beer.

The new friends entered the kitchen, only to be greeted by a chorus of questions. Jiya gestured to Beka, proclaiming her the victor, and the group applauded, with Jiyun obviously surprised that his older sister had been outrun.

"Yes, congratulations to our dear Terrier, though I don't understand why any challenged her. I don't let incompetents run my personal projects." Beka turned, only to see Rosto step into the kitchen, pushing his hood off his head. His chastisement continued, "I fully expect that tomorrow will not include such an incident." A quick glance at Jiya had her bowing.

"My apologies, your Majesty. It started out as a simple prank, but it quickly got out of hand."

Beka couldn't help but interrupt, "No, don't apologize." She turned to Rosto, "A quick word and swift appointment to power does nothing to prove my worth. I'm a Dog nobody expected flip sides. If I were in their shoes, I would have challenged a leader I saw as green and inexperienced. " Here she turned to her pack, "I intend on proving my reputation to all of you. You all can challenge me as long as no true harm comes of it and not a second of training is wasted."

All eyes looked on her, and Jiyun spoke up, "If you can chase down my sister, I don't doubt your skills at all. She leads a merry chase, and has escaped more than one veteran Dog in her time." Jiya nodded at this, and murmured her agreement. Phelen, Mack, and John also agreed, while Rosto was, as always, unreadable. "Glad to see this is all sorted out. Beka, I would like you to explain your long term plan to me over breakfast tomorrow." With that, the King of Thieves swept out as silently as he had entered.

With the news of the chase delivered, the up-and-coming guardsmen had no reason to remain. They said their goodbyes, and filled out as a group. Beka picked up the file Rosto had given her that morning, slipped on her cloak, and began walking home. With her stomach aching for food, her legs burning, Beka couldn't be happier. It was time to start another chase, and this one was personal.

Beka bought a slice of cheese and some bread on her way home and ate at her desk that night. Opening the folder, she began to scan through the documents that Rosto had given her. After weeks of doing Rosto's paperwork, she quickly noticed signs the tell-tale signs of his immaculate organization. Every piece of paper had to be exactly where it belonged, elsewise Rosto threw a fit. That's how Beka had become his accountant; Rosto fired the last one for being 'unorganized'.

The papers were crime reports, in a variety of languages. The ones in the beginning were entirely in Scanran, and Beka couldn't understand a single word on the pages. These were also the oldest, dating back about seventeen years. After six reports, the next six switched between Tortallian and Scanran, and all attacks occurred in small towns around the border between the two countries. Then, the next six were nearly entirely in Tortallian, and then the last three reports were back in Scanran. Finally Beka opened the last report, which was in Tortallian.

At the top it listed the officers on the case as Clara Goodwin and Matthias Tunstall. Rebecca Cooper was the victim. It was the report of her attack.

"Rosto!" Beka banged on his door in the Dancing Dove.

"Good morning, Rebecca," Rosto groaned while opening the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Beka, after looking at his bare chest, looked quickly over his shoulder at a clock, wincing when she realized how late it was; or, rather, how early. Nonetheless, she drove right on.

"Morning. What is this!" Beka scowled out. Rosto raised an eyebrow at her, "Can't you tell? They're crime reports Aniki and I found. We think they're related, and thought you would find it interesting." He tried close the door. Beka stuck her foot in the doorframe. Rosto growled at her, but reopened the door.

"Only ten are in Tortallian. I can't understand the rest," Beka pushed, driving through her exhaustion.

"Neither Aniki nor Kora nor I had a chance to translate the Scanran before I gave it to you. I can get you formal translations of the documents before the end of the week."

Beka looked at him, confused. "Why did you give them to me if I can't understand half of them?"

Here Rosto had the decency to look chagrined, "Well, we knew the trail to find him was cold. As soon as we made the connections between your case and these... we got excited. Thought you would like to know he hasn't disappeared completely."

Beka skimmed through the dates again. "He isn't going to stop, is he? All these woman, over all these years…he's not going to stop."

Rosto's eyes, hard with the truth, solemnly agreed with her. Beka looked at him, preparing to say goodnight, but she could feel the pulse of the chase begin for the second time that night. Rosto sighed, "Since you're not going to sleep anyway, we might as well start on this project now." Beka bounded into his room.

They worked until nearly dawn, Rosto translating the Scanran documents, and Beka recording the translations. Every once and a while, Beka would speak about the similarities or differences between her own abduction and that of the reported abduction. Though clouds of memory threatened to blacken her hope, the small desk with papers strewn over it and her cove, sitting _very_ close to her, kept her grounded. Finally, exhausted, they fell into bed together, just as they had all those months ago. Both were quiet over breakfast, fatigue reducing their conversation to grunts and nods. Finally, Rosto spoke up, in what Beka believed was the first real sentence of the morning.

"Do I dare hope that you developed a long term teaching plan for your precious trainees before you interrupted my beauty sleep?" Rosto questioned between bites of apple turnover.

Beka winced, reminded over her duties. "No," she answered, "I need to come up with one before the noon bell today." She'd decided that, since most of their work would be done at night anyway, there was no need for her to summon her Pack until high noon. They would then train until about six, when they would go to get dinner, and then she'd take one or two out every night, and they would watch the guard patrols and scan for criminals in the streets. Though they would make no arrests, Beka intended to act very similarly to normal Dogs, except patrolling more heavily in the back alleys and near those stores that paid a tithe to the Roguery, looking for those breaking the Rouge's Laws.

But she hadn't quite written out a lesson plan.

"Bet now you're wishing you'd had a Puppy before you came over to the Dark Side," Rosto jested.

A wry laugh echoed out from Beka. "Yah, something like that," she said.

The morning passed with blurred speed, and Beka walked into the Training House (as she was beginning to think of it in her head) with only a simple plan: she would put these Rats through their paces, doing every drill right alongside them. She'd take the regular training regimen for Dogs, and accelerate it, cutting out some of the full on conditioning and focusing on endurance training and wrist strength.

At the end of her second day, the plan seemed to be working. And why fix what wasn't broken? On their way to dinner, the unavoidable teasing began.

John started the string: "So, did you and the Rouge have a pleasant breakfast?"

Jiya: "I wonder if they had any turnovers? Or if they restricted themselves to bread and cheese?"

Beka (confused): "We always have turnovers- they're my favorite pastry."

Mack (guffawing): "I wish I had breakfasts where a turnover was normal! The Rouge is a lucky man!"

Jiyun(eyes gleaming wickedly): "Since Beka gets turnovers at _every_ breakfast, it's a wonder the Rouge ever lets her leave."

Phelen finally took pity on Beka. While the others were laughing so hard they had to stop walking, he whispered, "Everyone knows about you and Rosto's little breakfasts in the morning. Saying that someone's 'reporting over breakfast' or 'coming over for breakfast' has become synonymous with courting someone without being public about it. And if you eat a turnover…." He let Beka finish the thought.

She winced, looking over her shoulder where her trainees were still laughing at her expense. "I didn't get this job because Rosto wanted to make sure his bed-warmer still felt useful."

"So you are sleeping together?" When Beka glared, Phelen had the decency to look ashamed. "You have to understand, Beka, you two are the source of the biggest gossip in the entire Court. Everyone feels like they have part in your tortured romance."

"Tortured romance?" Beka couldn't help but groan out.

"Yup. Star-crossed lovers, doomed from the beginning to be torn apart by society." A wicked grin crossed Phelen's face, "I just won almost a full gold noble for betting that Rosto would formally take you out before the Autumn Equinox." Beka punched him, and continued leading her Pack to dinner. Phelen called out behind her, "You should here some of the ditties people are writing! They have you two…" A solid thud and yelp echoed out from behind. Beka didn't know who hit Phelen, but she thought they deserved a raise.

The night passed without further incident. Though John and Jiyun continued to try and tease her about Rosto, Beka deftly avoided their word traps with her new knowledge on euphemisms. But as the night eased on, Beka found herself ill at ease. As the pack around her laughed and joked with gay smiles, Beka found herself scanning the shadows. She felt like she was being tailed, and this time she didn't doubt her instincts.

Her grandma Fern always told her, "_People can lie any day of the week. They'll lie about the price of bread just to make an extra coin or two off some little old lady they don't think knows any better. For most folk round here, it's not too far a step from lying about where they were last night to believing their own lies. It's when the shadows creep out in the night and lives hang in the balance when people show who they truly are_."

Beka proved her grandmother true: she was a Dog through and through. And Dogs stuck with Dogs. After dinner, while the group was walking back home, she pulled Phelen aside. "Have you seen anything strange tonight?"

"There's a man whose been trailing us for a while, he picked us up a couple blocks after we left the Training House. He's about a head taller than myself, with blond hair and fine clothing. He's dressed in a white cambric shirt and regular brown pants- he's obviously trying to fit in, but his cloths are high quality. And even though his clothes are so fine, his boots are unpolished- probably to avoid a shine that would catch our eyes. He's good, but definitely out of practice, at trailing; he has made a couple novice mistakes that really caught my eye. Otherwise, he's good enough where I might have missed him." Beka stared at Phelen in awe. He had learned some new tricks while under Rosto's wing.

Phelen mistook her awe for confusion, "His Majesty taught me how to spot a trail- its mandatory to know if you're going guard him on a daily basis."

Beka switched to signing, not wanting to alert their trail that his position was compromised. She and Phelen began talking about the latest gossip while their hands flew with signals. Finally they had a plan.

Phelen went, twining his arms around the shoulders of Jiya and Jiyun. Beka strolled over to John and Mack, who were speaking in hushed tones.

"Beka," John greeted before she could say anything, "I don't know if you've seen him, but there is a…."

Beka cut him off , "I have seen him, John, and I have a plan." She quickly explained their parts to them. "We're in," John replied, and so the game began.

After they'd walked a few more strides, Jiya suddenly proclaimed, "Oh! Beka, I forgot to tell you, _he_ asked me and Jiyun to drop in tonight. _He_ wants us to come and sort out some… inconsistencies in our _business_ records." Beka waved to her to go, and siblings turned around and jogged around a corner, disappearing out of sight. Suddenly, in front of her, a fight broke out.

"You slinking Tyran! You think you can come in here, and take out all the moneybags, leavin' them so nervous they won't come within feet of a cove like me! Well I'll tell yah, some of us have actually worked to get where we are, and we don't need some upstart foreigner taking positions that belong to tried and true Tortallians!" Mack looked down right ferocious as his face turned red and a vein bulged from his forehead. Though he was a head and a half smaller then John, any spectator would have laid all their money on Mach winning this fight.

"Hey, boys, cool down! You both had a little too much…" Beka began, moving forward as if to intercede. Mack threw a punch before she could finish. John hit the ground hard. Beka and Phelen raced in, dragging Mack off and into a nearby alley. John sprang up from the ground, and sprinted after them, screaming for blood.

And so the entire group had moved into the alley, with a clangor so loud Beka feared someone might call for the Dogs. While 'fighting' to drag Mack farther into the alley, she saw a shadow of a man slip into the alley with them.

She waited a moment, and then Jiyun was right where they needed him. With a swift move, he had their trail on his knees, arms wrenched behind his back. _Gods all bless the Shang,_ Beka prayed, before giving the signal for all the commotion to ceased. Jiya joined her brother, and together they dragged the stranger deeper into the alley.

There they wouldn't be disturbed.

"Who are you?" Beka demanded, but the captured man didn't respond, even as Jiyun twisted the captives shoulders into a less-than-natural position. Mack raised a hand, preparing to punch the man, but Phelen grabbed him from behind.

"You don't work for Kayfer anymore. The new law is if you need questioning done, you need permission from the Rouge," Phelen announced, speaking as much for the thieves around him as to catch Beka up. Internally, Beka grinned; Rosto had instilled major changes. The more she saw, the more she realized he ran a tight ship, and Beka wondered what other laws he had changed.

She turned back to her prisoner. "You get one more chance to speak before I drag you to the Rouge to be questioned. Who are you?" The captive kept his head obstinately turned down. Jiya yanked their captive's head up, hauling him to his feet. As Beka stared into her stalker's face, her breath caught in her chest. A snippet of conversation from the other day flashed through her mind:

"_I'm going to kill him one day. " Rosto proclaimed miserably, and Beka assumed he spoke of the man from the hall way._

_ "Your mom would kill you if you dared to lay a hand on your brother," Aniki said_

"We have to get to the Court of Rouge now," Beka ordered, fear pumping through her veins.

Mack's face was red again, this time with true anger. He approached her, fists clenched, choking out, "We're going to let this scut trail us all over town and not do anything about it? You're exactly what I thought you were: the Rouge's _doxie_. I'm gonna…"

"You're going to do exactly what I tell you to, or leave." Beka commanded, trying to funnel Goodwin into her tone. "We've now caught ourselves up in something that could get us killed. Look him in the eyes," she jerked the captive's face up once more, "and tell me, who does he remind you of?"

Recognition dawned on Mack's face. Without a word, he and Beka gently tied the prisoner's hands behind his back, and hurried to the Dancing Dove. Beka prayed that she and all her trainees would all leave the tavern alive.


	8. Part Two: A Family Reunion

Part Two: New Beginnings

Chapter 8: A Family Reunion

"_Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. _

_Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged." _

_Samuel Johnson_

"This must be what it feels on the walk up to the gallows afore being hung," Beka thought to herself as she slunk into the Court of Rouge. She quickly spotted Rosto up on his dais, but he was engaged in business with three heavily adorned _Carthakis_. For a moment, Beka paused to ponder how they walked under the weight of all the jewels, then began to scan the crowd for Aniki. Finally she spotted the Queen, who stood over in a corner talking with a couple flower girls. She slid over and waited for Aniki to acknowledge her.

"Beka, I'm busy right now," Aniki dismissed, but Beka knew she had to push.

"Your Majesty, I wouldn't dare interrupt for anything other than an incident of the utmost importance." Aniki glared, but begged the pardon of the women around her, grabbed Beka's wrist, and dragged her to a corner.

"This had better be so important we need to bring in Rosto," Aniki growled out.

"It is, Aniki. Trust me, it is." Beka gestured for Aniki to follow, and led the Queen of the Ladies of the Rouge into the alley behind the Dancing Dove. There, trussed up with rope, lay the Rouge's brother, while Beka's pack stood guard. Aniki froze. "Great Mother, what happened?" the Queen demanded, and Beka answered promptly. At the end of her tale, Beka stood, waiting for the worst. Aniki turned in anger, not to Beka, but to the prostrate man lying at her feet.

"What in Mirthos's name were you thinking!" Aniki demanded, then shook her head in dismay. "Never mind, you're not going to answer to me for this." Her Majesty rapped out a pattern on the door behind her, and two huge Rushers stepped out. Taking her knife, Aniki cut the ropes binding Rosto's brother, and then she pushed him towards the guards. "Escort him to the Rouge's room. Do not let him out of your sight." The two muscle men nodded, grabbing the prisoner's wrists and leading him inside. Aniki returned her attention to the crowd of nervous thieves (and Beka) standing beside the door in anxious silence. "All of you get in the tavern and act natural. However, if any man leaves the bar before Rosto clears him, there will be severe consequences." Aniki turned on her heel and marched back to her throne room, the others following behind her like whipped curs.

Once inside, even Aniki didn't dare interrupt Rosto's meeting. However, she must have given some sort of signal, for after a few moments, Rosto excused himself from the dais and briefly talked with Aniki. She then turned and stalked upstairs, while Rosto returned to his guests.

Tense hours followed. Jiyun and Jiya played dice quietly in a corner with a few other young thieves, and John was the life of the party, dancing and laughing away with others in the Court. Yet for all his mirth, Beka noticed how John continually looked towards the dais of the Rouge while absentmindedly fingering his knives and locating at escape routes. Mack, however, maintained no pretense of normality as he wallowed in a corner, burying his concerns under layer after layer of booze. Once the Carthakis walked out the door, Rosto turned and walked up the stairs, saying quick goodnights to the crooks he passed, but not acknowledging the Pack in any way. Beka sighed, and continued her wait. To pass the time, she sat in a corner and kept a close watch on her trainees and the thieves around her; first to ensure her Pack wasn't stirring up trouble, and second to try and pick up some of the mannerisms of the Court's usual denizens. From the looks the people gave her, Beka knew she still stank of Dog. For future reference, in a city where no one knew of her previous carrier, she needed to know how to false-face her way through a crooked crowd, without anyone spotting her as a guardswoman. Because she had the time to sit and observe the thieves, she realized all flashed hand signs while they sat around and gossiped. Some were obviously taught only within a certain gang, while other signs appeared to be more universal. She made a mental note to convince Rosto to teach the signals to her…assuming she lived long enough.

Another hour passed, and finally someone plodded down the stairs. "Beka," Aniki called, and the guardswoman hurried to her side. Aniki led her up the stairs and into the same conference room where they had convened the day before. There Rosto and his brother stood, leaning against opposite walls, glaring at each other. "Now now boys, calm down," Aniki muttered, mostly to herself. However, Rosto heard the murmured rebuke and turned his gaze to her, and consequently saw Beka trying to hide behind his Queen.

"Well, even though you've already met," Rosto began, "the formal introductions are always pleasant. Beka, this is my youngest sibling, Viktor. Vik, this is Rebecca Cooper." Beka reached out her hand, but Viktor refused to even acknowledge her, his eyes never leaving Rosto's face. Trying to save face, she turned her handshake into a wave, and then maneuvered herself closer to the door. Rosto looked like he might kill his brother no matter what their mother would think, and Beka refused to get caught in the crossfire.

A tense silence ensued, and Beka wished she'd had a drink or two. Then, maybe she could be in a drunken stupor, oblivious to the danger of this situation. Instead, she quaked quietly in a corner, practicing the speech she'd planned to defend her and her team's actions. Finally, Aniki broke the silence.

"What's said here doesn't leave this room, Beka. It's a delicate situation that involves people Rosto and Kora and I left behind in Scanra. We don't care what lies you tell your team, but remember this: they're all seasoned members of the Rouge. If you don't tell them anything, they won't ask any questions.

"But here's the gist of the situation. To get the records Rosto gave you the other day, we had to call in a few favors back home. I'm sure you noticed most of the reports were in Scanran; from the records we've found we believe that everyone's favorite crazy man hails from our homeland. However, with the search for evidence, we had to let some people at home know where we disappeared off to. Viktor was one of them; but about twenty others now have confirmation that the new Rouges of Tortall are the upstarts that left the Scanran Court under…we'll call it 'less than desirable circumstances'. Luckily, all of those twenty people are Rosto's family, and they certainly don't want to see him dead…"

"You should have seen the look on Mother's face when she got that letter from you." Viktor interrupted, addressing Rosto. "Finally finding out her favorite son still walked with the living was one of the best moments of her life, and now you refuse to respond to _any_ of her letters. I can't believe…"

"Responding to her letters would put the entire family at risk. She should know that, yet she keeps writing. She's blinded by her love, and she's being careless because of it," Rosto shot back with vehemence.

"STOP!" Aniki ordered, and both men turned to her, fury racing across their faces; though whether they were angry at Aniki or each other Beka couldn't tell. "This constant bickering solves nothing; we're treading a thin line here and we have to proceed with caution."

Rosto took a few deep breaths, and when he opened his eyes once more Beka found no trace of anger, only determination. "I knew I kept you around for a reason, Aniki," he joked, before turning back to his brother. "Vik, please, just go home."

Stubbornness lined Viktor's face, "I can't, not until I finish my investigation. This is the first time she's let me work a major case, and I can't let her down."

"Mother will understand if you just go home and explain it to her," Rosto replied with the same stubbornness.

Beka could keep quiet no longer, "Investigation? Are you working for My Lord Provost?"

Rosto turned to her, "I left some details out of your introduction. Though the title is different in Scanra, there is a direct translation into Tortallian. Beka, this is Guardsman Viktor Ivaninski, who's assigned to a task force under the direct command of Karolina Ivaninski, our mother and the Lady Provost of Scanra."

Beka wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the irony.

"You just blew my cover, brother," Viktor wryly pointed out.

"That's normally what happens if you get caught, _kintzo_," Rosto shot back. The two then proceeded to argue in a staccato language Beka recognized as a dialect of Scanran; though not the main language the Dogs had to learn parts of. She turned to Aniki for an explanation, but the blond simply watched the siblings bicker. She filed the word 'kintzo' away for use in the future- from the way Rosto spat it out, it certainly wasn't a blessing.

Sitting back, she thought about her questions. Who was this Karolina Ivaninski? Why was Viktor assigned to trail Beka, when she knew with certainty that she had done nothing that would have the Scanran Guard after her? How could Rosto interact so well with the common people, yet have a noblewoman for a mother?

Beka hoped she would get some answers soon.

Finally the two men stopped screaming at each other long enough to breath, and Beka quickly inserted herself back into the conversation. "Um, if you don't mind my asking, why were you following me?" she questioned, a little more aggressively then she'd intended. Two pairs of coal black eyes focused in on her. Beka swallowed back her fear, and stood resolute, demanding an answer.

Rosto gestured for his brother to answer, and Viktor sighed, but complied. "I'm on a major task force whose goal is to find and arrest the man or men behind what we're calling the Agritz Rapes. In the process…"

"Agritz?" Beka interrupted.

Viktor scowled at her, answering abruptly, "It's the name of the region, I guess you would call it the province, where the first 6 attacks occurred. After those initial six attacks, there have been no more assaults within the region, but the name has stuck to the case file. We believe, considering the first five attacks were within a day's travel from Bojorn(a city, founded along the fur trade route), that the rapist lived in Bojorn for the first five years of his active assault on women. Furthermore, from the dates of the attacks, we have deduced that the attacker spends about ten months stalking his victims before executing his plans. He makes his attacks cautiously, but confidently. Once he's decided on a course of action, he must practice it over and over before he kidnaps anyone. Then, he can execute the crimes nearly perfectly, leaving few to no clues for the guards. Our head psykers have profiled him, and decided… "

"Brother, while this is all important, you still haven't answered the poor girl's question." Rosto guided his brother back on track.

Viktor fiddled with a hem, his cheeks tinged with red. He quickly cleared his throat, "Uhm, yes, of course. Well, you, Guardswoman Cooper, were attacked because of your connection to the Lord Provost. All the others were women of power, yes, but were never completely in the public eye. The others were wives of governors, admirals' daughters, and generals' aunts- women whose power came from their connections to powerful men. Also, you are the only victim to escape alive."

Beka frowned, half of her glad for the information on her attacker, the other half revolting at being classified as a 'victim'. "What did he want out of my Lord?"

Viktor frowned back, and Beka realized that she hadn't yet seen the foreigner smile. "Luckily, he has been very blunt about why he's attacking these women. He believes the Gods themselves have deemed women to be inferior in some way, and he wants the Gentle Gender to retreat back to their kitchens. No more female guards, knights, or politicians. Only dutiful wives."

Beka frowned still further, "This is…disturbing." Her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

Viktor had the decency to look ashamed. Clearing his throat, he took the moment to organize his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, "I beg pardon for being so blunt. I understand you were kidnapped very recently, and I apologize for reviving old nightmares. For you trials, Miss Cooper, you have my undying sympathy. All of the Scanran Guard is looking for your kidnapper so that he may be brought to Mirthos's Judgment. However, we have found ourselves obliged to force ourselves into your life because we believe that the attacker hasn't left Chorus yet."

Beka felt unease begin to grow in her gut. Suddenly, everything clicked in her mind. "You think he's still following me, don't you," she whispered out. "You think he's still stalking me."

The response came, cold and swift, "Yes."

Beka froze, body and mind. The dark thoughts that she had banished into the dark depths of the night now overwhelmed her in the bright light of the room. Looking back, she knew she had been careless- she'd trusted too much in the guards and their advice. If not for strangers she had never met before this night, in a week Rosto might have found her dead in some dark alley. Her presence, in any room, put her family and friends at risk. She had no doubts that this man could, and would, kill anyone in his way this second time around. He would not lose his prey again; he would rape her and kill her and leave her as an example, leaving piles of bodies in his wake if he had to. She could already see her brothers strangled in the stables they loved so much, her sisters massacred with their own sewing needles. Everyone: Rosto, Aniki, Kora, Ersken, Goodwin, Tunstall, they were all at risk because of her luck. She had to leave the city, leave fast. But where could she go? This man, this heretic, would follow her to the ends of the world. He would run her down until she handed herself over to him, just for some peace.

"… and so, by arranging our guards in this fashion, we hope to see a man who our mages can identify, and then hope that man is already on our list of suspects. Then we can focus in on one suspect and…" Viktor had kept talking, unaware of his listener's lack of attention. Beka quickly nodded, pretending that she had listened all along.

Viktor noticed nothing, but from the presence at her shoulder, it appeared Rosto had. "Excuse us for one moment, brother," Rosto said humbly, and Beka knew he saw right through her. He lead her into the hallway, and for a moment simply looked at her- sorrow echoing in the depths of his eyes. Beka couldn't handle it any longer, and simply leaned into him, letting his arms protect her from herself.

"I won't let him near you, no matter the cost," Rosto promised her.

Beka thought of nothing but sorrow as she wrapped her fingers deep into his hair. She feared not even the strength of the Rouge would be enough to save her from her fate.

After some minutes, Rosto led Beka back inside the conference room. Rosto and Viktor continued to plan out strategies, while Aniki headed downstairs to watch over those rushers remaining in the _Dove, _which would close within the hour, and tell Beka's pack they could go home. The two brothers worked well together as long as they focused on the problems at hand, and didn't diverge into family conflicts. Considering that their mother ran the investigation, it was harder to stay on track than Beka thought it would be. At this rate, she'd pass out from exhaustion before even a tentative plan was put in place.

However, through the veil of shock and exhaustion, she understood the plans the two mapped out on the floor of the small conference room. As Cook brought up pitcher after pitcher of hot tea, the brothers polished up the details of the plan, with Beka throwing in the occasional suggestion. However, as the hour grew later (or, rather, earlier) the dialogue moved increasingly into Scanran, leaving Beka confused on the sidelines.

It gave Beka time to plan. No matter what, Beka had to catch her stalker. Deep in her bones, she knew that, if she died, her attacker would begin hunting another victim. From what she heard of the plan-before the language barrier rose- Viktor had plans to post guards on her all day, every day. Then, all they had to do was wait for her attacker to waltz right into their trap.

She let loose a feral grin- Seth Maurer (if that was even his really name) hadn't a clue about who he attacked. Nothing can harm the dead, and she walked among them every day. She is one of them- a hapless soul bound to earth by forces beyond her control. She is the dead- their conduit into the world- and this man had racked up a long list of immortal enemies. Those victims, dead long before their time, screamed for revenge.

Seth Maurer will pay for his crimes in blood.

Rebecca Cooper had to be the one to wield the executioner's ax.

She would have her revenge- even if she killed herself in the process.


	9. Part Three: Old Friends, New Allies

Part Three: The Chase

Chapter One: Old Friends, New Allies

**Change the time line to one more suited to the weather, because they aren't simply missing the man in the crowds. He's using the nothing magic from the 1****st**** circle opens book.**

"Your mother was a victim!" Beka loudly informed the prostrate man lying in the bed across the room.

"Why do you always wake me up for work?" Rosto scowled out, still exhausted from the meeting with his brother the night before. "Why don't I ever wake up to see you standing in front of me wearing nothin' but a _grin_…"

"Maybe if you practiced an honest trade, I'd feel guilty about disturbing you during the deepest hours of the night to present you with more work," Beka shot back while waving the oldest report in front of Rosto's face.

"If my memories aren't deceiving me, you're not exactly practicin' an honest trade anymore…." Rosto muttered into the pillow, nestling further into the blankets. Beka, appreciating the lines of her lover as his shoulders flexed and relaxed, paused for a moment before snapping her mind back to the task at hand.

"The heading lists the victim as Karolina Ivaninski. Isn't she your mother?" Beka impatiently demanded, forgetting her manners as exhaustion demanded she simply roll into bed with her lover.

A sigh answered her, "No, she's my aunt- though the two women share a name. My grandfather controlled a great percentage of the mining operations in the North Country, where snow lies permanently on the ground and the sun will only shine for a few short hours in the winter. However, though the family business is centered in the far reaches of the tundra, most of my family lives in Bojorn, within a week's ride of the Tortallian boarder. My aunt was Grandda Aljec's oldest child, and his favorite. Everyone thought she would inherit his fortune. But she was killed, and the next girl-child born, my mother, took her name in memoriam. Now, will you please come to bed?" Beka complied, a quick puff of breath extinguishing the last light in the room.

From there on, time passed in a mix of terrified swiftness and impatient drag. Hours turned to days, and days to weeks, and weeks and months. All winter Beka trained her recruits, and Viktor and his partners trailed Beka. Though Viktor had tried to get more guards into Tortall before the passes closed, winter had flown in fast- making the passes impenetrable before the messengers could even reach the boarder. And, since his initial mission had been simple reconnaissance, only 3 other guards had accompanied him to Tortall. As the winter wore on, the dark circles under Viktor's eyes grew steadily deeper. And, though Beka pitied the other guards, she could barely remember their names- they didn't speak Common, and she didn't speak Scanran. Oftentimes, she could forget they were there.

However, Viktor made sure she could never forget his presence. While the other three lurked in shadows, acting purely as body guards in stoic silence, Viktor stuck right by her side. As Beka instructed her trainees on the proper ways to hobble Rats, Viktor followed at her elbow, explaining how they did it in Scanra and why it was a _far superior_ method than this _garbage_! And it wasn't just training where Viktor leeched into Beka's life: he came to breakfast with her and Rosto every morning, and oftentimes he followed Beka to the noon meal, and then ate dinner with her and her pack- no matter whether he was on duty or not. Once, after escorting Beka home, she would have sworn he was going to ask to come into her apartment. Luckily, Rosto had just rounded the corner and asked to speak with her alone.

One day in mid-December after breakfast, Beka made some excuse to follow Rosto to his room, and left Viktor to finish his meal at the table. As she followed her lover up the stairs, with the usual innuendos and sexual advances flowing out of Rosto's mouth, she finally collected the courage to ask Rosto what was going on with his brother. He laughed at her.

"He's sweet on you, darlin'."

Beka couldn't believe her ears, "But he… and… he's arrogant and…"

"And condescending and pushy. He's always acting the know-it-all, and making a general fool of himself," Rosto finished her sentence for her. Beka could only nod. Rosto continued chuckling, "No, he's turned into a cracknob trying' to impress you. When his face starts turning purple and he can't stop stuttering, then you know he's going crazy for you."

Beka winced and groaned, eliciting more laughter out of Rosto. "Fear not, I'll protect you from your own charms and womanly wiles!" He proclaimed, before kissing any thoughts of his brother out of her mind.

True to Rosto's prediction, in February Viktor began stumbling over every word he tried to speak to Beka. She winced on the inside, and tried to treat him with professional distance, but the more she backed off, the worse his stutter got. Finally, Viktor scheduled his shifts for the times when Beka was most likely to be surrounded by people, a move which brought a needed relief to their working relationship. Nothing was harder than trying to spend some time with your lover while his brother glared at every sign of affection.

For, as winter's cold drafted into even the best heated houses, Beka began to spend every night in the Dove, though she kept paying her rent to _Mistess Trout_. When asked about her continued hold on her apartment, she only responded, "Everyone needs a place of their own." However, behind the scenes, Beka's old apartment slowly converted into an investigative headquarters. Beka lined new maps up on the wall- of Chorus yes, but also of the Northern Boarder of Tortall by Fief Trebond and the province of Scanra known as Agritz. The case files remained under lock and key in a safe bolted into Beka's new closet. On top of that, Rosto and Aniki also continued forking over their rent, even though they had lived in the Dancing Dove for almost half a year. Slowly, but steadily, the two other rooms slowly morphed into barracks able to house about ten or eleven agents total.

By the time March reared its ugly head, and bashed the world with yet another barrage of blizzards, the lodging house was prepared to be the center of a major operation. By the middle of March, snowed in by a late storm with no more preparations needed, Beka got antsy. She took to walking in the Market Places hidden away under clock and hood, looking for Scanran traders fresh out of the mountains. As late March arrived, the first from the boarder began to wander into the city, with tales of record breaking snows and bone chilling temperatures.

It was predicted messengers to or from the capital city wouldn't be able to cross the Mountain Passes until the early April, and big parties might not be able to dare the pass until late April- meaning the guards wouldn't enter the city until early May, an unbelievably late arrival. Beka rankled on the inside, though she made sure to smile in public. The dire news meant that none of the Scanran guards could enter the city until the middle to the end of May, and then by the time the plans were explained and enacted, June would be well under way. They wouldn't be able to arrest Seth for a while yet.

But hope blooms eternal, and Beka continued her walks in the market undisturbed, until one day in late March when suddenly she had a dagger at her throat and a man whispering in her ear, "Take me to Rosto the Piper, the one folks here name the Rouge of Tortall."

"Well, he does have an official complaints service, of which I have no part. I could take you to one of his officials, though." Beka whispered back, looking for a counter-attack against this man's choke hold. But the man was good; he held his knife arm close to her, but maneuvered his body away from her legs, so she couldn't sweep his feet out from under him. Though she could try and grab his arm and launch the man over her shoulder, she didn't like the way his forearms flexed under his shirt. This man was strong, and she couldn't afford to give him a single advantage.

"You're a funny girl, I'll give you that. But I need to speak directly to his Majesty Himself," a good natured voice replied.

"Well, sir, you're out of luck. I'm just a poor girl- I couldn't get a private audience with his Majesty the Rouge," Beka murmured back, feigning innocence as long as she could.

"I doubt that, considering you sleep there every night." _Pox and murrain, he's scoped the place out,_ Beka thought in a panic. Wait, could this be…? No. It wasn't him. He would have drugged her long before now. And, certainly, he never resonated power like this. This was someone else- and she had to figure out an identity fast.

"I'm from the country side, and it's far too far to go home at night. The Rouge gives me a cheaper rent than anywhere else in the Lower City," Beka lied, just trying to stall for time at this point.

"That's a lie," the stranger replied quickly. "Now, let's stop dancing around with the questions and answers, lass, for you're not a good enough liar to slip a story by me. Get walking- and if you try anything I'll have my crossbowman shoot you dead. If you don't believe me, just look around you; he's right over in the ally by the apothecary stand." Beka glanced over, and quickly spotted the man lurking in the shadows, hiding something large under a cloak far too heavy for the weather. She nodded her acquiescence, and she felt the knife relocate itself from her neck to her back.

The order came swift and commanding, "Get moving."

And so Beka walked, not bothering to try and lead the stranger around the city until she could alert someone to the danger. No, if he'd scoped the place out, trying to lead him astray could get her killed. Instead, they marched right to the Dancing Dove, where Beka tried to stall once more, searching the crowd for any of her pack, Aniki, Rosto, _someone_. Then there was someone: Phelen, whispering in Jiya's ear! Beka didn't even try to catch his attention- his fingers already moved in quick motions, signaling her to buy yet more time. "_I've spent months waiting and now I don't have enough time!"_ Beka thought wryly, while quickly throwing together a scam.

"Please, if you hurt someone and they find out I led you here, my life is forfeit," Beka pleaded.

There was no response from the man behind her other than a quick, "Keep walking."

"_Think, you silly gixie, think!" _Beka frantically thought, then said, "Please, I feel so light headed, just let me sit down. " She added a stumble to her step, feeling the knife's pressure release for a quick moment, before it quickly jabbed itself back into her flesh.

"Keep walking." She could see more motion in the corner of her eye, but she didn't dare turn and look at the source of the commotion. She hadn't forced her captor to pause for even a moment, and she couldn't forget the threat of the crossbow.

So she simply collapsed, imitating the faints of delicate noblewomen she knew from her time in the Provost's House. The knife pulled away from her, and Beka heard swears from above. A body leaned over her supine form, a hand touching her neck gently to feel for a pulse. Hearing shouts break out to her right, Beka chose this moment to attack, and preyed a crossbow bolt wouldn't pierce her chest. Snapping her hand up and seizing her attacker's wrist, Beka kicked her feet into the man's chest while pulling his arm even closer to her chest- successfully launching him over her head. Using the momentum of her attack to flip herself over too, Beka landed with her feet in the middle of the prone man's chest. She began pounding away, towering over the man to keep him on the defensive until help arrived.

However, the stranger quickly covered his face in a move known to Beka as the 'turtle shell'. He kept both hand and forearm over his face while pistoning his legs up and into Beka's back, trying to dislodge her from her seat. Unable to land a solid knockout blow, Beka started moving her strikes around, sending one to his chest, another to his shoulder, then one to the side of his head. Though her new attack strategy let her land more blows, it also allowed the foreigner an opportunity to counterattack, and Beka soon felt the retaliation punches begin take their toll. She needed to end this fast. While arching her back for a powerful blow, Beka felt herself tip slightly, then flip, and suddenly their roles were reversed, and Beka herself was receiving the pounding.

Taking a few rough blows to the head, Beka reached for the knife at her side reluctantly, not wanting to kill the man, but not willing to be killed either. Just as her hand curled around the handle, the weight was removed from her chest, and hands helped her to her feet. Panting, Beka grinned, and began to greet her helper when her hands were wrenched behind her back.

"In the King's Name, you're under arrest for brawling in a public center," a grim faced guardsman proclaimed, and Beka's heart sank, even as she praised the Gods that she hadn't drawn her weapon.

Then she was off to the cages.

"You have a mean left hook, missus." The foreigner called out to her from the adjacent cage. Beka dutifully ignored him, holding a filthy rag to her nose, which still bled profusely. She suspected it might be broken.

"It's no wonder the Rouge took to you, you have layers! You almost had me believin' I had the wrong girl, what with all the 'what are you talkin' about?'s and 'please let me go!'s. Mirthos, you're a fiery one." Chuckles echoed down the hallway, and Beka knew they came from the Cage Dogs guarding the few prisoners in the prison. Knowing how fast the news of her arrest would spread around the city and kennels, Beka's blush grew even deeper, and she tried to slink farther into the recesses of her pen.

"Why am I always gettin' caught," she muttered to herself, questioning her training. She'd been practicing all winter- she was probably at the highest proficiency she'd ever been. How come she kept getting jumped by random strangers?

"Well, I don't know 'bout your other hobbles, but I am the best catcher you kin hope to find," the voice called out to her again, arrogance underlying his tone.

Beka just scowled, and opened her mouth to curse out this stranger who wouldn't let her be! Just then, the Cage doors opened, and the mage light pouring in blinded her, and cut off whatever thoughts were cutting through her brain.

"Darling Rebecca, because this is your fist offence, the Dogs are letting you go out of the good of their hearts!" Rosto proclaimed as he strode through the door, illuminated from behind by the Guardsman's crystal light. He helped her up, and as they walked towards the door, the guard sidestepped to block the door, holding out a hand while saying, "Me heart hasn't been full of love and joy for a while. Wouldn't it be awful if I suddenly changed me mind?"

Rosto grinned, but not from joy. His gay façade partially hid the anger flashing across his face, and gave him a fierce look. "And wouldn't it be awful," he began in a cheery tone, "if on your way back to 1237 Glassman's Street you happened to lose all the joy you've found today? A couple strangers run into you, and _poof_! You're trust in mankind has disappeared again." After a long pause, the guardsman stepped out of Rosto's way.

"The other one is 'cross the hall," the Dog murmured indifferently while quickly unlocking the foreigner's cell. Beka glanced at Rosto, trying to understand what he was thinking- this man would probably try and kill him! Why not let the guards deal with him? Frantically, Beka nudged Rosto, and signed away with her fingers, but Rosto only gave her a quick glance before returning his gaze to the opening door.

Unlike Beka, the marauder apparently guessed what was happening, and he had stood up and brushed himself off, and paraded out of the cell without even a glance at the prison guard. Without anymore chatter, the trio marched out of the Kennel without further incident, though Beka could hear the whispers surrounding her arrest already following after her. A few blocks away from the station, Rosto broke the silence.

"I'd take you two to dinner so we can all catch up, but you're both a bloody mess," he said with a false sense of gaiety.

"Catching up is the last thing I want to do," Beka muttered, mostly to herself, the tenderness of her face a stark reminder of the pounding she wanted to give the stranger.

"You can stop clenching your fists, you crazy mot, at least until we're out of sight of the Kennel," the foreigner replied to her unspoken challenge. Beka finally turned and looked at the stranger, and stopped dead again. With his white-streaked blond hair, solid stance, and supple mouth, there was no mistaking this man.

When would Rosto's family stop popping out of the woodwork?

"This is Gerald Kurina, the Baron of Fief Bojorn" Rosto tersely introduced, not bothering to tack on "my father" as a title.

"Toz-a, what do you want?" Rosto asked again, impatient and cross. Beka, now cleaned and scrubbed, hunched over her vegetable soup, the wooden spoon clinking against the bottom of her bowel as she shoveled the remaining broth into her mouth. Healings always made her hungry.

"We never did manage to pound any manners into you, did we, young man. It's no good to speak of business over meals, it ruins the meal and causes trouble, every time," Rosto's father (or, in Scanran, toz-a) chastised while he popped another honey bun into his mouth, sucking the sticky syrup off his fingers with a quiet pop. Rosto only sighed, and continued swirling his untouched soup in methodical, well practiced circles.

Beka collected the last of her soup with a bun, and the bread soon disappeared into her mouth as she leaned back in her chair, finally satiated. She and Rosto exchanged impatient glances as they waited for his father to eat the remaining food on his plate. However, half an hour later, they were still waiting, as the man finished yet another lengthy story with food still laying on the table in front of him. Finally, Beka could stand it no longer.

"Sir, are you going to finish that, or would you like it to be cleared?" she asked, irritation creeping into her tone. She received a frown from the old man.

"You shouldn't bring this one back to Court," the geezer arrogantly mentioned to Rosto while keeping his gaze on the girl before him, "she's too uncouth for the subtleties of our Rouge. She'd get us all killed."

"You never should have brought mother to the Court, and she never should have brought you home, and then where would we be?" Rosto said drearily, as though this was an argument that had been stated many times over. "She picked up on the nuances of Court just fine with some preparations, and if I went back Beka could too. However, the next time I go home I'll be in a coffin, so I think this is a moot point."

"Touché," was the only response from the older blond.

"Though Mother would love it if you deigned to see her once and a while," a voice called down from the stairway. Viktor. First his grimy boots appeared, followed slowly by the rest of his body. He stomped over to the table, snapping out a chair and collapsing into it. "I see you have already finished dinner," he accused, and Beka felt his non-existent invitation burning away at her conscious. "Toz-a, whenever did you get into town? And, considering that your presence heralds the opening of the passes, why wasn't I informed of your entrance into the capitol?"

Beka felt shame color her cheeks a burning pink, but the other two Scanrans at the table remained impassive to Viktor's accusations. The silence stretched out, long and violent. Viktor's red-rimmed eyes tracked every movement, every twitch with a feral accuracy. Beka felt the bloodshot globes burn into her, and she averted her face, trying to ignore the adrenaline pumping hot through her veins. Her instincts screamed that something was not right here. Her eyesight sharpened by the anxiety, she noticed the signet ring peeping out from Gerald's unlaced shirt- a ring hanging on a finely wrought, but sturdy, gold chain. She noticed how Rosto's fingers never stopped moving- first he played with a clean napkin, then his father's bowl. But what stuck out to her most were Viktor's red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Had he been drinking? No, he'd worked many hours for months on end with no breaks or vacations. He must be exhausted, and was probably sick. Nevertheless, Beka stored the note away for future reference.

The rest of the dinner discussions occurred mostly in Scanran, and the unfortunate former guardswoman, lost in confusion and lulled by a false drowsiness caused by the healing, fell asleep at in the middle of dinner.

Beka awoke refreshed, curled up in Rosto's bed with her lover nowhere in sight. Stretching out the kinks in her shoulders, she rolled out of bed, noticing she still wore her cloths from the day before sans pants. Shrugging out of her cotton button-down, she picked through her drawers, pulling out a new breast band, loincloth, and some combination of pants and a shirt without regard to color. About to slip out of her undergarments, she reached quickly for her knives when her door burst open without so much as a knock.

"Well, we have quite a lot to, AGH!" Gerald finally looked at Beka, then jumped back around the door jamb, covering his eyes until he was out of sight. For the first time, Beka saw a break in the oldtimer's mask of calm assertion, "I.. uh, missus, my apologies, I didna..well, I'd thought you'd been up an'…"

Beka pulled on clothes as fast as she could, planning on quickly rushing to the door to relieve the poor man of his embarrassment. However, after a short consideration of yesterday's events, which still left their mark on her face, she decided that the best revenge was served ice cold. For once, she couldn't find anything to wear, and planned on taking a long time to respond to the Scanran's apologies. But eventually the day had to get on, and Beka opened the door and accepted yet another round of apologies from a man she thought didn't even know the word "sorry".

Finally, after some awkward moments and red cheeks, they got down to business.

"Well, miss, what you missed last night was this: the passes are barley open, but the Scanran Guards are already piling into the mountains, fighting through the mud and remaining snow to get here on time. My wife has decided that, in light of the complete lack of activity from your attacker," Beka raised an eye brow at this, but only received a roguish grin from the man, "she has decided that he has completely reset his plans, and won't budge from his ten month schedule. He will attack you sometime in mid-May, and we have to stop him. The stakes are raised, and he can't afford to lose; he won't give up until every last shred of hope is wrenched from his grasp."

Beka gulped, "And if something goes wrong, and I'm captured, you think he might not hold me captive but kill me immediately."

"Yes," for an instant, she could almost see Viktor sitting in front of her, like that night all those months ago. However, the moment passed swiftly, and a bond began to form between a slightly lost young woman and a crotchety old man who didn't mince his words.

"Well, it's a good thing you're the best around, isn't it?" Beka proclaimed, forcing her nerves off and embracing the joy that emanated from this man.

Guffaws echoed around the room, "If you keep this up, we might keep you around yet, girl!"

Finally, Beka caught up on the plans. The guards were descending to the South as fast as they could, and until then Beka needed to stay safe, especially considering the continued anonymity of her attacker. Beka squirmed at that fact, and Gerald noticed, but spoke not of it. Gerald had been sent down South by his wife because of his knowledge of Chorus, and he had been given two tasks; rent a building where the operation could be centered from and contact the Lord Provost of Tortall.

"Of course, I also have unofficial orders to make sure the boys are getting along after a winter spent in close confines. Those two have fought like demons ever since they were little. Viktor only ever wanted to be good, and Rosto only ever wanted to have fun." Beka, with her intimate knowledge of the boys, nodded in agreement.

Finally they reached the end of their catch-up session, and Beka leaned back in her chair, content. That mood was soon to be interrupted.

"Well, young miss, there's only one more detail that needs to be covered. I'm sure you know what's coming," Gerald said gravely.

"Well, what is it?" Beka said, hoping he was wrong and she hadn't guess what he was about to ask of her.

"We need your statement, about the events of July the tenth through July the thirteenth of last year."

Beka winced, for even the thought of the night she spent in captivity shutting down her mind. But she knew her duty, and she was finally prepared to take this step.

"Well, let's get it over with" she forced out of her throat, which subsequently closed as she held back tears.


	10. Part Three: The Statement

"Just start whenever you're ready," Gerald gently began, and I took a deep breath.

"It all started when Ersken mumbled out…

"I can't believe how unfair this is. I mean, really, double watches every other day? I know we're getting paid hazardous duty pay by the King, but still." Finally, I could take no more.

"Ersken."

"Yes?"

"Anyone who aint sick is working the same amount of hours as us. The King himself couldn't stop this bug, and the City can't go unguarded. It aint anyone's fault that so many Dogs caught sick, but they are and we aren't. So shut up, and do your job."

He gave me a funny look. "Beka, I would have never taken you for one who got mean when they were tired. I thought you would just get quieter than usual." I just glared, not in the mood to talk. Currently, yelling was a perfectly reasonable response to any question, certainly keeping my temper under control took too much effort. And so I decided to prove Ersken right and simply stop talking. My new partner's constant talking had frayed my temper over the last couple days, and I found myself longing for my usual companion, Tunstall. However, the fever had hit him hard, and he lay in one of the many quarantines set up across the city.

Ersken finally took my cue, and we wandered through our patrol in silence, the market bustling around us. While the Evening Watch had the most criminals on the street (and thus demanded that only the best patrol), the Day Watch needed numbers. With the crooked mixing in with the multitudes of innocents, more eyes are needed to find and arrest the Rats. Yet, due to the number of guards unable to leave their beds, and the chaos in the city 'cause of the blasted fever, Dogs have had to double up on watches to maintain any semblance of order. Usually Fourth Watch can fill in the positions vacated by ill Dogs, but the disease has spread like wild fire among us. Too many have been sharing gear and lodging houses. What Ersken and I were doing was a necessary. We had to maintain the tranquility of the city for the greater good.

Yet for all I repeated these facts to myself, it doesn't change that fact that my body knew it should be laying flat in my nice warm bed. I'd finally have scrubbed all the grime out of me pours, and the sheets would feel so crisp around me…

"How much time have we got left?" I ask, knowing Ersken would know exactly what I was talking about.

"Beka, it's only 11 in the morning." I look up, realizing grimly that the sun hadn't yet hit the zenith of its trip. Ersken continued, "We're on duty until one tomorrow morning. We've barley been on patrol for 2 hours." Scowling, I returned to scanning the crowd halfheartedly. Hours pass with Ersken and me running on autopilot. Minutes drag on for days even as hours fly by in an unintelligible blur. Finally, we'd entered the last stretch of our watch.

"Midnight, Beka!" I smile as I too hear the bells ring out over the city.

"Just one hour left," I sigh, rubbing my eyes once more, trying to keep the exhaustion from overtaking my vision. We turn into an alley, Ersken taking point while I cover his rear. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flicker of motion, yet when I turn to get a better view it is gone.

"Beka?" Ersken calls back, noticing my pause.

"Nothing, just thought I saw something. Gods, I need to get to sleep before I start seeing ghosts."

"You already talk to them, why shouldn't you see them too?" He laughs, and I join him, both of us crazy with exhaustion. Ersken continues walking forward in a well practiced trudge, scanning around corners and into crevices to keep us from getting killed. I've watched him a great deal these last few days, and I know exactly how he does it: check left, check right, take three steps forward while scanning the area in front of him, swing baton in a well-practiced pattern, and start the whole thing over. I follow him, looking over my shoulder and double checking the alley. As we walk farther and farther into the side street, the road narrows till two grown men could no longer walk abreast. The Rouge stores weapons and general supplies back here, and so high stacks of crates create winding mazes on either side of us. Usually the Happy Bag pays us well to avoid this side street, but murder rates have spiked in the wake of the desperation. The poor have become poorer, and any entering the shadows of alleys are open to attack. We have to check here for bodies.

I continue stepping forward, but I could swear that there was a man watching me from the shadows. I spin on my heel again and again, yet the shadowed man is simply my mind playing tricks on me. My hackles are up, but this phantom fiend is simply exhaustion playing tricks with my mind. There is no one here but Ersken and I. No one.

Yet I still stop and scan the world around me. I hear rather than see Erskin continue to walk, and I turn to see him waltz around a corner. A flicker of motion catches my eye once more, and I snap my head around to see a flicker of cloth retreat into the crates.

I was wrong- we are not alone.

I step forward into a narrow gap, forgetting my training, squeezing my way in between two crates without any thought of my partner. Baton raised, I call out, "Reveal yourself, in the King's Name!" I receive no answer. I take another step into the maze of boxes, but there is no light to see by. I assess my position: no visual, no partner, no Rats in sight. I turn to leave, only to hear a rustle from behind. As I try and turn, realizing my Rat stands behind me, a hand pushes itself over my face and mouth. I inhale, preparing to scream, but only breathe in a lungful of drugs. As the world goes black around me, I try and buck the man off, but it is no use. My weakened limbs collapse under me, and the darkness consumes my mind.

For a while I lose myself, drifting in an ocean of nothingness. Slowly I re-enter my own world. The first thing to return was my name- and I whisper it over and over to myself as I walk towards the light.

Finally, I am myself once more. With every blink, the veil of confusion wears away, replaced with understanding and anger. I awake in a dingy hovel, which had only recently received occupants. Dust lies piled in every corner, and the furniture rots from the inside out, laying in wait for an unlucky occupant. My arms stretch out above my hand, iron links biting into my wrists as they bind me to the bed. A quick glance down reveals that my legs are bound in a similar manner. I am trapped.

"You're finally awake. Good, good, good." I arch my back to the point of pain, and catch a glimpse of the man standing at the head of the bed, like a wild cat above its prey. Slate grey eyes peer out from under thick, mouse brown eyebrows. Hair of an indiscriminate color flops lankly atop a narrow face, drawn out long like the Rat he is. "Yes, this is very good." Releasing his perch from a clenched grip, the Rat slinks to the end of the bed where I can look him in the eyes. Face to face, I spot a glimmer in his eyes that makes me shiver. As Cesspool scum, you learn to spot danger. My every instinct screamed at me to flee. Yet when tied down, freedom is an impossible dream.

A hand, covered in grease, reaches out and strokes my hair, the gentle touch belaying the rage in his stance. "My pretty little martyr," he whispers out, and nausea reels in my gut. This man, this situation, this isn't right. The hand he had twined in my hair slowly strokes over my head and onto my cheek and chin. I pause, waiting, then strike out with my teeth, snapping them onto empty air.

Gotta give it to him, the man had reflexes.

A hand cracks down, catching me right across the face. Though none of my teeth are launched out of my mouth, my tongue is caught between my jaws, and blood pours onto my tongue, and I spit the red saliva onto his face.

"You trollop, you upstart, you worthless piece of gutter trash!" it seemed as though different man stood in front of me. Whereas before an unholy lust had twisted his actions, now fury dominated the man, overriding any sense of logic or reason that had been left in his mind.

"We'll teach you a lesson on how proper ladies behave," he spat out as his fist pulled back once more.

He proceeded to thrash me with unexpected skill. Where most men would succumb to the battle fire, letting it rule their actions, he tamed it, used it as a tool. Instead of letting fly a few wild punches, and knocking me out within a few moments, the beating lasted forever. Just as the freedom of unconsciousness began to overwhelm my mind, he noticed and pulled me back from the brink. Only a few shots were directed at my head after the initial blow; most focused on my chest and stomach until my ribs burned with pain and I had emptied my gut multiple times. Finally he pulled back, knuckles raw and seeping blood.

Panting, he began to walk away, "Let's give you some time to think about your actions, before we have any more fun." The door shut definitively behind him. The lock slid into place, and my prison doors sealed with a definitive silence.

Though the gloom encroached on my consciousness constantly, cracks below the windowsill betrayed the passing of time. Just as the sun began to rise, a healer came in, healing up a few cracked ribs, and wiping balm on the larger bruises. Unabashed, I begged for him to let me go or tell the Provost's Guards of my continued survival: offering him money, power, fame. He never said a word, and hobbled out the door in quiet anonymity.

Meanwhile, the day continues in a never ending drudge. Outside my window, I could hear the sounds on the street, but no one answers my screams. Later, I was told there had been a silencing spell on the warehouse. Yet in denial of the hopelessness of my situation, I continued my verbal barrage, screaming for help and cursing my captors in the same breath.

It took a long time before it dawned on me that no one was coming for me. I was alone.

The light disappeared from view, and I spent the night shivering on the oaken bed. Dawn came once more, and I squirmed on the bed, dying for the privy and some water. Even as my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my bladder ached with a need to expel waste from my body. Sometime, around mid-afternoon I guessed, the man entered my room once more. From the grin on his face, he knew he had the upper hand.

"My little martyr, have you learned your lesson?" Pride screams at me to vent my anger on him, but my biological needs hold back my tongue. Shame seeps through me as I nod my agreement. Childish delight shines from the man's face, and he claps his hands with joy. "Good, good, good," he slinks over to my bed, crouching at the edge. "Now, I'm sure you need something from me. Don't you, pretty?" he said, making the question more of a statement. Instead of waiting for my answer, he plows on ahead. "But I'm also sure you know, pretty, that nothing is without a price." For the first time, true panic creeps into my mind and body, adulterated by neither adrenaline nor anger. I feel my hands above me begin to quake.

"Price?" I whisper out, trying to remain steadfast against the terror that threatens to overwhelm me. With only a sick grin, he leans down and presses his lips to my ear as I shudder in revulsion. His teeth nipped at my earlobe before meandering a path down my jaw line. Tears leak from my eyes. But for all that disgust threatens to consume me, I hold still as a statue. Finally, he backs away, something like pride shinning from his face.

"Yes, yes, we were right. The guardswoman learns so much faster than the others. Survival instincts." Then he seems to snap back into reality, and addresses me once more, "Good girl." He pats me on the head like a dog. "Now we must make sure you behave. But how?" The creep stills, head cocked as if he listened to another voice. "Yes, yes, good idea, sir," he mummers in agreement to some unspoken suggestion. He slithers over to a bureau, and pulls out a rag and a vial. Uncorking the glass, he holds the rag to the top, pouring out a thin stream of liquid onto the rag. He creeps back to the side of my bed, and I fight once more to free my wrists. Once again, a vicious slap cracks across my face.

"Bad. Hold still." I refuse, but the rag held over my face quickly quells any resistance. My mind suddenly stops functioning, and I can't stop giggling. "Why am I tied to this bed," I thought to myself, "and where am I?" My captor is untying my wrists, and though I sense that this is important in some strange way, for the life of me I can't remember why. I sit up once my arms are untied, giggling at some unknown joke.

"Who are you?" I grin at him. He smiled back, and helps me up, holding me when my legs give out from lack of use.

"It's of not matter to you," he quietly replies. "Just know that our names will be tied together for all eternity. Come along." He leads me out of the room through the only door, which connects my prison to a long hallway with two other doors. He leads me to the one on the right, pushing me inside and closing the door behind me. I look down, and see it's a privy. Suddenly, I remember how badly I have to pee. Dropping my uniform pants, I sit and relieve myself. Finishing quickly, something screams at me to delay.

"Are you done?" My captor calls.

I pause, torn between two options. Why do I want to stay here? Why not follow the nice man back? Suddenly, snapshots flood back. Ersken, the alley, the darkness, his_ lips_. I feel the drug begin to loosen its hold over my mind. Pitching my voice high, inserting random giggles, I call out, "I…I'm not. I don't feel well."

"Hurry it up. You have one more minute before I come in and get you." Anger underscored my captor's outwardly jovial tone. Quickly, I scan the privy. For a moment I lose track of my train of thought, but I force myself to remember his touch, his slimy awful touch. The anger and shame that laces through me wears off the remaining effects of the drug, and I search for any weapon I can use to my advantage. There once was a small window, high on the wall, but it was boarded up from the inside. However, I quickly notice the lines of nails binding the relatively new boards to a rotten window frame. Standing on the privy, I lean up, resisting the urge to chortle in glee, stretching as far as I can to grab hold of the lowest board. Three nails hold the ply wood in place and a swift wrench on the boards jerks one end out of the window sill. However, the second end remains steadfastly bound to the wall. Using both hands now, I grab hold of the edge, slowly working the remaining nails out of their wooden tomb. I hear a voice in the hallway.

"Oi, Seth, the girl's not in the room."

"No, she's in the privy. Not feeling well or some such nonsense. Girl! Hurry up. You have ten seconds." Furiously, my hands work on my last chance of escape.

"Ten." Pulling, pulling with all my might,

"Nine." Are they starting to break free of the wood, or is it just my imagination?

"Eight." Yes! They're coming out! But too slow by far.

"Seven." I can slip all my fingers between the board and the wall, and I use all my body weight to try and pull board out of the wall. Blood begins to drip down my arms as my hands are ripped up by the splintered wood.

"Six." It's free. It's finally free.

"Five." Three nails, about three inches long, are stuck into a length of board about the width and length of my hand.

"Four." I set myself up right to the side of the door, prepared to ambush Seth the second he comes in.

"Three."

"This is taking too long. GIRL! GET OUT!" Who said that? Seth, or his accomplice?

"Two." CRASH! "No!" A boot crashes in beside my hip, breaking the lock and slamming the door open. I swing at where my attacker's chest should be. However, the man that flew into the privy is not Seth, and is nearly five inches shorter than my captor. The nails only skim the edge of his face, leaving long scratches across his cheek bone. Fury written across his face, the new man turns around, fists swinging. His knuckles make a solid contact against the side of my face, and I hit the ground hard, head spinning. Instinct saves my life as I kick my feet up into the accomplice's chest as he swings down a dagger, intending to implant the length of steel into my gut. However, instead of skewering me, he found himself flying over my head into a wall. I hear a sick crunch, and he lies prostrate on the ground.

Springing to my feet, I scan the room quickly trying to find Seth. Suddenly, I meet his cold grey eyes. "You're being very bad. Very, very bad. Drop the nails." No matter how crazy a man is, you can't argue with him when he has a loaded crossbow pointed at your chest. I hold up my hands and drop my makeshift weapon, surrendering.

"Drop to your knees," Seth commanded, and I comply, hands still in the air. I feel the kiss of steel at my neck.

"Let's just kill the bitch, Seth." His lackey proposed, pressing his dagger a little further into my neck for good measure. I feel blood drop onto my head from above. At least I got in one good hit.

Seth shook his head. "No, she is a martyr. Others must learn from her example. They haven't learned from the others, but maybe this one will be the droplet of water that pushes the river over its banks." I wait, wait for an opportunity.

The lackey begins to pull his dagger away from my throat. "Seth, don't you think this is getting…" I never let him finish his sentence. Quickly, I grab his wrist and throw him over my shoulder once more, this time into his partner instead of the wall. He lands hard on his back, his feet knocking the crossbow askew. With a twist, I relieve the sidekick of his knife, and plunge it into his chest.

The punch that whales me across the face plunges me back into the darkness.

When I finally reemerge from the blackness of my mind, I awake to find a rather angry kidnapper staring down at me and my limbs immobilized once more. Quickly, he thrusts another rag over my mouth, one laden with just enough drugs to make a thin, grey sheet drop between me and reality.

When I find the Black Apothecary who mixed these cocktails up, I'm gonna give him a taste of his own medicine before calling the Guard.

He stands up, beginning to stalk around me.

"What to do to a girl as bad as you?" He croons, and the sick admiration in his eyes is worse than the fury of moments ago. "When I finish our little game, you will be begging for death. And when this is over, and I cut your throat, remember that you had to turn to me and ask for my _permission_ to leave this world." His voice remained level and calm, a strange contrast to his words. Even under the false lethargy of the drugs, I knew this was the end of everything. No more sunsets or sunrises, no more kisses or hugs in my future. This was the beginning of my last moments of life. And my last sight would be this cracknob in front of me. Tears began running in rivers down my face. The drugs continue to addle my mind as he eases my pants off.

"Let me go, let me go…" I weep out.

"Shhh, little one," he croons, gazing down on my body in sick admiration, "You know you want it. You know this is exactly what filthy, sleazy trollops get when they ask for it. And remember, in the end, you have asked for it time and time again." Disgust and shame rip through me, and I try once more to buck him off me, but my limbs feel like lead and my kick misses his head by a foot. I tug at the chains binding my arms to the bed, but it is a hopeless maneuver. I am trapped; pinned down like a calf at the slaughter.

"Please, please have mercy," I beg, desperation overcoming my pride. "Please, don't do this."

Wild eyes gave me my answer. There was no way out. No help.

"Please, please, please, please, please….." A swift punch to my ribs knocks the wind out of me, and though I strain to speak I can only wheeze in tortured gasps. Seth pulls out a knife, efficiently slicing down the front of my shirt, revealing my breast band.

"Please, please, please," the phrase becomes my mantra, whispered to whatever god might hear my pleas. Unbidden, prayers drop from my lips, "Please Goddess, take mercy on your daughter. Please, Mirthos, take justice upon those who break you holy laws. Please, Peaceful One, look down on your scion with…"

A hand presses down on my throat, clenching off any last words I might wish to throw to the heavens. A knife appears at the edge of my vision.

"Gods don't take mercy on upstart bitches who ask for it. Your filthy mouth soils their names as they pass from your lips. The gods are punishing you; they need me to do this. I'm their living tool."

For the first time, I look directly into his red-rimmed eyes. "You're pox-rotting insane. A murderous crack-nob 'ho get's off on dousin' 'hoever he can." Panic had me slipping into Cesspool chant, and in a moment of terrifying clarity, I thought that My Lady would be proud of me holding onto my civilized side for so long.

To my shame, he laughed, "You think we haven't heard that line before? Only a select Few understand the cause. All the rest must be punished." He smiled down at me, cutting off my breast band in an eerily practiced maneuver. Tears roll down my face as he reaches down, his hand reaching for my loincloth.

There is no more hope. Not for me. Resigned to my fate, for the first time since he grabbed me in that dark alley, I stop fighting.

His fingers move under my loincloth, yet I can't bring myself to care. I am the walking dead. What happens in the remaining hours of my life no longer affects my fate. I am the dead.

After all these years, I will finally know the paths into the beyond.

He begins to pull my underwear down, but suddenly pauses. Then I hear it too: footsteps in the hallway outside my final resting place. I hear shouted commands, and someone rattles the locked door handle. Could it be….? No. No, no one knows where I am. A cry echoes into the room, "In the King's name, open the door and surrender yourself!" Seth looks at the door once, then sprints across the room. Flipping over a rug, he reveals a trap door set into the floor. He looks back once at me, then jumps into the tunnel below. I hear his footsteps recede into the distance even as the door breaks open.

Guardsmen and women, clad head to toes in black, rush into the room. Someone covers me with a cloak, while another unties my hands. I hear someone call for a healer, even as reports begin to come up from the tunnel. There's no sign of a man, and the tunnel is a dead end- the roof has collapsed, obviously recently. A man calls out for someone to get news back to Goodwin before she cuts someone's head off. Ersken walks over, and tries to help me up, but I can only scream. And scream. And scream. Another rag descends over my face, and for the final time I slip into the glorious release of unconsciousness.

"Then I woke up a few hours later, and refused to give a statement. When Goodwin went to find someone to escort me home, I snuck out and walked home on my own. Then I ran into Rosto."

"How did you get the knife?" Gerald asked, and Beka admired the thoroughness of his investigation.

"I'll answer your question when you answer mine. How did you know I got the knife?" she shot back, taking her residual fear out on him.

He scowled at her, "Rosto told me- I interrogated him as a part of my investigation. Once again, how did you get the knife?"

A shrug as Beka temporized, finally answering, "I snuck back to the crime scene. I had to know if he'd been caught. I only had to ask around a little to find out where I was going- everyone and their mothers knew about the sting going down in the Cesspool. I just walked into the crime scene and took it."

"I doubt it was that easy- you're pretty easy to identify."

"Everyone was exhausted, doing their job and getting out of there. One more guard, even one beat up pretty bad, was not an issue. As long as no one caught my eyes, and I didn't make too much of a fuss, I got by."

"Well, thank you…" The door slammed open, and the pair leapt up, weapons drawn.

"Toz-a, this is my investigation. Needless to say, I should have been present at the interview of our victim," Viktor stood in the doorway, cheeks blushed with anger.

"As you should know, son, special victim cases often involve adapting the protocol to ensure all comfort for the victim," Gerald strictly corrected.

Anger pauses the scene as the two Scanrans glared in unrestrained antagonism. Finally Viktor turned on his heal and storms out.

A tear slowly etched a line down Gerald's otherwise emotionless face. "What has Corus done to you, my boy?"

Beka was afraid to answer.


	11. Part Three: The Bite of Reality

Chapter 11: The Bite of Reality

**Sorry about the major delay, life got in the way...Anyway, enjoy the new chapter!**

Beka paced in her room, aching to stretch her legs. Antsy from her talk with Gerald, she needed to run away from her own mind. But, because Viktor was on guard-duty and he'd just run off to gods-know-where, she was unable to leave the safety of the Dove. Gerald had work to do for Rosto, Rosto had Rouge work to do, Aniki and Kora were helping Rosto with his super-secret Rouge work. With no escort, she was trapped in the winding rooms of the Dove. Finally, hours later, Viktor returned, sweat dripping down his face and pooling under his arms, cheeks red from exertion.

"Where have you been?" Beka accused, ill tempered from lack of movement. Placing her hands about shoulder width apart on the floor, Beka lowered her body down to the floor then surged up, over and over.

"I think we all know what time of the month it is..."

Beka leaped off the ground, arms visibly trembling. She stalked up to his face, till she could feel his breath tickling her cheek. "Please, keep talking. I'm itching for a fight and your face is looking particularly ugly today."

"Why don't you just go for your run and shut up, yes?" Beka pushed him out of the way as she stormed out the door.

Her braid flew out behind her head like a horse's tail, bobbing and weaving in time with her stride. Her stride at full speed, Beka kicked her heels high as she powered through each step. The sun beat down from above, casting long shadows. Viktor panted beside her. To avoid mid-day traffic, Beka kept off the main roads; instead she jogged along less used back allies. Going to take a right turn back onto a more central roadway, a voice stopped her.

"The crowd is very thick there today," Viktor commented.

"At this time of the day there's usually more than enough room to get through," Beka responded, continuing on her path.

"No!" Viktor exclaims. Beka comes to a stop, and the Scanran runs into her back.

"Why ever not?" Beka probes, suspicious though she couldn't find a reasonable justification.

"There's been a brawl, the guards are shutting down the street," he deftly replies back, looking around at the stalls around them.

"Why would they block down a street?" Beka further inquires. "If we closed down a street for every brawl, the entire Cesspool would be closed."

"Apparently, they fear it will turn into a riot."

"Why are they rioting?"

"Since when have I been concerned with your pathetic city's issues? I'm only here for you, and when we've cleaned your mess up, I'm never coming back."

Beka scowled, but turned where he wanted her too. The talking was taking too long. All she wanted to do was keep running. She could ask Rosto about the riot later. And so she ran, deeper into the city she knew by heart. Slowly moving closer to the pile of crates where she was first attacked.

And she was not happy about it.

"Stop being so jumpy," Viktor chastised. Beka leaned into her stretch a little further.

"People keep moving in and out of my peripheral," Beka shot back.

Viktor scoffed, "Please, that five year old was definitely hiding a shiv in his back pocket." Beka grunted noncommittally.

"If you're so paranoid, why didn't you bring your Pack along? I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to guard their precious leader," the Scanran accused sardonically.

"For your information, they're off doing what they've been trained to do: guard the name and stability of the Rouge."

"I didn't know Rosto had any honor left to protect," Viktor muttered, and Beka, for the first time, saw the true depth of enmity between the two brothers.

"Rosto is a very honorable man," Beka defended.

"He's an honorable man when it suits him. When he's done trying to impress you, you'll see his true colors."

"The only definition of who you are is what you do- and Rosto's actions are good."

Viktor dismissively shrugged. Beka turned away, about to head back home. However, the shortest path home was a small back ally she remembered all too well.

"We'll take the long way home, I think" she decided.

Viktor coldly grinned, "Afraid to face your ghosts, Cooper? Maybe you do deserve the man you've captured with your feminine charms. You're both _cowards_."

Beka's fist slammed into his face. As he lay on the ground, trying to stem the blood pouring from his nose, she ground her teeth together violently.

"Don't you _dare_ insult his honor or my courage," She spat out. "You have no idea what I've been through."

"Please, I hear you can talk to ghosts, and yet you're afraid of some alleyway? That's the most pathetic thing I've ever heard. You make everyone believe you're a hero, a leader for the impoverished masses, but in reality you're just a stupid chit who relies on everyone else to carry her though life.

"In fact, the only reason you're not getting high while laying in the muck of the Cesspool is that you happened to catch the eye of the Lord Provost. Ever since then, you've had it easy. The best Dogs in the city are your mentors, then the new Rouge takes you under his protection. I haven't seen any of your skills at all: only seen you captured, over and over. By the Coll brothers, by this Seth character, and finally by my father. Gods Above, if that old fuddy duddy could catch you, you must be pretty useless. It must be that no one else has the guts to tell you to your face. "

Beka froze, anger silencing all the thoughts over her mind. Already shaken by recounting her kidnapping experience, her mental barriers stood no chance against this verbal attack from a coworker she'd respected. He now stood before her, and she would have to get around him to continue on down the long road home. Instead, she quickly turned down the alley she never thought she would enter again.

Though the sun rested high in the sky, Beka shivered as though a brisk fall breeze was brushing by her. She closed her eyes and lengthened her stride, and heard Viktor plodding along behind her. She pistoned her legs back and forth, accelerating to full speed, trying to get through the alley as quickly as possible.

She ran straight into the ambush.

Swears poured out of her mouth as she spun, sending a flying kick into her first attacker. She quickly reversed direction, trying to retreat, only to see that she's surrounded. She finds a wall to set her back against, sinks into a crouch, and fights.

And it was a good fight, till the mage came. Otherwise she might have won it. Though the men fought well, she fought better, using a strange mix of trained combinations, freestyle knife work, and street gusto. Then the wave of orange light and false exhaustion overcame her, and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

Instead of waking groggy and lost from a drug induced stupor, Beka opened her eyes and immediately regained full perception and memory. She felt the battle fire begin pumping through her veins. There was no light in this room, not a single ray of sun. The darkness was palpable.

Yet the grim surroundings did not affect her mental attitude as she braced herself for the assault to come. She didn't count on anyone finding her; Viktor was probably dead if she was captured. She had to do this one alone. Grinding her teeth, she simply waited for something to happen.

But nothing happened. Beka just remained bound to the wall for what seemed like hours, her arms high above her head. No one came for her. Her back pressed up against a damp, spongy wall; the entire room smelled stale. She had to be in a basement, maybe even outside the walls of the city. Her shoulders burned from the stress of holding up her body weight; her feet just barely touched the ground. Beka could feel the muscles strain and pop as gravity continued its merciless pull. Regardless of the pain, she bounced her body up and down, trying to pull the chain out of the wall. However, her shoulders already ached from her merciless exercises earlier, and her yanks and tugs weren't as strong as Beka would have liked. The pin slowly jolted further and further out, loosening at an indeterminate pace.

Finally, she heard the creaking of a door. She quickly closed her eyes, lolled her head to the side, and released all muscle tension. Light shined brightly behind her lids, and she slowly began to crack open her eyes, letting them adjust to the brilliance. She needed all the advantages she could get.

"Looks like she's still asleep," she heard a familiar voice say. "Fix that."

A hand landed on her shoulder and sent a bolt of pain through her muscles. With a short scream, Beka jerked back to "consciousness" and glared at a very frumpy little mage. She had been right though, they were in dirt walled basement.

"Thank you, sir. You're services are no longer needed." Beka glanced over at her personal nightmare, that mousy man who'd hunted her for months now. The mage straightened out his threadbare robes and huffed out of the room without a word, insulted at his abrupt dismissal. Seth paced around the room, taking small sips from a goat-skin water bottle.

"I need to piss," Beka demanded, trying to sooth her nerves by aggravating her captor.

"I'm not stupid," Seth said irritated. He swirled his drink, tapped his foot. He was antsy too.

Silence. Seth pulled out a knife, sharpened it slowly. When his back was turned, Beka pulled down on the chain viciously, but to no avail. The pin wasn't loose enough, and Seth watched her too closely.

"I don't like finishing it this fast," Seth said, and Beka frowned. That was the last thing she needed to hear. She gently tried to encourage this idea, tried to get him to give her time to make an escape, "Yah, this pace is making me uncomfortable too."

Seth frowned, "I'm sorry, my dear, but you have to understand that you're just too smart for your own good. I just can't afford the risk of treating you like I want to."

_Thanks?_ Beka couldn't help but think.

"Yes, too smart by far. You've moved too far from your place," Seth continued. "Women need to know their place, the poor need to know their place. You've stepped too far out of the role the Gods gave you. You must be punished."

"How do you know that this isn't my path? How do you know that this isn't what the Gods wanted me to be," Beka countered.

"Now you just sound crazy," Seth calmly stated. Beka shook her head. Cracknobs, there was no arguing with them.

"Now my dear, usually I'd try to get you to understand all this, then repent physically and mentally, but unfortunately your precious lover has thrown the city into an uproar trying to find you. It is your turn to face eternal judgment." Seth approached her, the knife slowly rising up above his head. "Give my humble regards to the Gods."

Beka trembled, waiting for him to get close enough. Wait, wait, NOW! She wrapped her leg around him, pulling him in closer while angling her body to the side. His dagger hit the wall instead of her chest. She then manipulated the situation to her advantage, using his body weight as leverage and pulling downwards with every muscle she had. As the chain finally pulled loose and fell, her left shoulder let out an eerie pop and flared with pain. The bolt attaching the chain to the wall landed right on Seth head, and he backed up quickly, swearing as he went.

Beka grabbed the chain in her right hand, twirling the loose end until it whistled with speed. She'd never fought with ropes or chains before, but she'd seen it done in the Cesspool by those unable to afford or to steal proper weapons. She didn't give Seth another moment to recover, losing the chain at high speed and rocketing the end towards his temple. He ducked, hands failing in the air to grasp at her makeshift weapon, but Beka jerked it out of his grasp. She couldn't afford to stop and undo the clasps around her wrists and so her fate lay in this length of metal wrapped around her fingers.

"Too smart by far," Seth muttered, clutching at his side. He pulled something out, threw it across the room, and Beka reacted too slowly. She jumped out of the way, but it landed close behind her. She was left stunned by a huge flash and bang, then left blinded by the smoke and dust which began swirling in the air around her.

"Mages," Beka snarled out while coughing vehemently. She couldn't see more than two feet in front of her face. A dagger cut through the air next to her, and Beka lashed out, trying to locate her attacker. Though her punch missed his face, she grabbed a clump of Seth's hair, and she spun around behind him, avoiding a second swing of the dagger. Her limp left arm brushed against a crate, and a powder attached itself to her skin, burning and corroding the skin beneath it. Grimacing in pain, Beka tried to get the powder off while listening carefully, trying to avoid her invisible attacker. An ominous crack echoed from above, followed quickly by loud, continuous creaks and groans. The ceiling was coming down. Beka braced herself for the next attack, which never came.

The slam of wood on wood told her Seth had already taken the high road out. She followed the sound, slamming into many corners and walls along the way. Finally she found the doorframe, located the knob, and tried to turn it.

Locked. Luckily, she'd had a lot of time to practice the picking of locks. She yanked her boot off her right foot, pulling the picks out from the sole. Maneuvering the chain around her wrist out of the way, she turned back to the door, even as the ceiling cried out above her, the wood screaming at her to get out.

"What would mother think if she saw me now?" Beka said as she deftly manipulated the tumblers, slipping out into a straight, narrow hallway.

A crossbow bolt embedded itself in the wall next to her head. Thank the Gods, her attacker was a bad shooter. "Probably that you spend too much time with thieves," Seth replied. "I was hoping you'd be stuck in the hole, dead like the rat you are. But, once again, you've avoided Death's grasp." He loomed above her on a landing, a dim backlight telling her the ground floor was mere feet away.

"We're on talking terms, Death and I," Beka snidely responded. "We meet for lunch sometimes, catch a few drinks after work." Beka kept her eyes focused on Seth's hand, waiting for the millisecond of delay between the pull of the trigger and the launching of the bolt.

Seth's eyes narrowed, "How dare you mock the Gods. I hope for you sake that the Lord of Death has a sense of humor, or at least a fondness for your sorry soul. Otherwise," a sick grin filled his face, "you'll be repenting for all of your eternal life." The crossbow focused unwaveringly at her chest. He knew he was a bad shot, and was going to try and hit the largest part of her body. In response, Beka angled her chest to the side, trying to minimize the area he could hit.

Beka saw the finger begin to clench, and she dropped down to the floor, tucking her head down as far as it could go. Seth adjusted his shot, but not enough. A second bolt slammed into the wall even as Beka sprinted up the stairs. Seth tried to reload the bow, but he wasn't faster than a Dog with a grudge. Beka dropped her bad shoulder and drove her body right through Seth, powering through the tackle with her legs. Beka, bum shoulder on fire, landed right on top of him and used her right hand to yank the crossbow out of his grasp.

Seth might be a killer, but he wasn't a fighter. Beka swung the crossbow like a club, and it was over. His head slowly rolled to the side as Seth Maurer lay unconscious on the ground, completely at his victim's mercy. Beka picked the lock on her chains and hogtied her attacker, wishing he'd waited a little longer to pass out.

Beka looked around, and realized her way out was collapsed. The floor of the shanty had collapsed into the basement at some point, the only pieces of floor still intact lay at random angles. She looked down at the piece of limp man collapsed at her feet.

He could stay there.

Unfortunately, on second thought, he couldn't stay there. He had at least one known accomplice on the loose and unaccounted for, and Beka wouldn't let her attacker escape again. So she was left to drag his unconscious body through the rubble. It took an hour. In the wet, oppressing heat.

Finally, Beka dropped the body in the dirt and leaned over, exhausted. She looked around, now outside. The sun indicated she had two hours till sunset; the trees proved she was outside the city walls. Seth began to murmur, showing signs of life. She kicked him in the head, slung him over her shoulders.

It would be a long trudge home.

Along the way, she ran into a few travelers, most going towards the city, a few going back to farms only a few miles away from the walls of the city. None stopped to question the small, dirty girl carrying an unconscious man. Well, sometimes she dragged him, but only when she couldn't hold her right arm above her head any longer. With the adrenaline wearing off, her left shoulder began to burn with even the slightest bump. From the look and feel of the joint, Beka thought it was severely dislocated. She'd stopped to try and pop it back into the joint, but for no benefit. The appendage still hung limply by her side.

She heard the pounding of hooves from ahead, and moved to the side of the road. When the equestrian turned the corner, he quickly pulled his steed from a full gallop to a quick stop.

Rosto. He jumped off his horse and sprinted towards her, wrapping her up in his arms.

"Thank Mirthos, you're alive," he whispered out, before kissing her soundly.

"How…sweet," a voice echoed out from behind. Seth, the bastard. Before Beka could say anything, Rosto had let her go and leaned down to Seth's level, looking him dead in the eye. Then his fist launched out, and Seth was unconscious once more.

"I've done that a couple times too," Beka commented wearily, "hopefully there won't be any permanent damage. I'd hate for him to be in the asylum instead of jail."

Rosto shrugged, "With all the people clamoring he be delivered to their jails, he'll be lucky to live another month before being executed."

With Rosto fluttering around Beka to ensure she was ok, they slung Seth over the horse's rear. Beka awkwardly hopped into the saddle, uncomfortable on horses even when whole and hale. Rosto grasped the reins and walked the horse slowly down the road. Holding on with one hand, Beka leaned awkwardly over the horse's neck, keeping an eye on her lover and trying to ignore the man behind her.

Suddenly, Beka remembered, "I'm sorry about your brother."

"What do you mean you're sorry? How did you find out?" Rosto responded, uncharacteristically cold.

"Well, I suspected what had happened to him," Beka responded, confused.

"Then why didn't you tell anyone! Why didn't you tell me!" Rosto yelled, stopping the horse. "There was no reason for any of this to have happened!"

Beka, confused and exhausted, yelled right back, "What did you expect me to do! I was knocked out and carted away! How was I supposed to tell anyone we were attacked and he was dying in the streets!"

Rosto paused, and let out a dark chuckle. "Of course you'd think that's what happened," he whispered out, defeated.

"What are you talking about?" Beka asked.

"My brother didn't tell us you were captured. By the time anyone realized what had happened, the trail was hours cold. If I hadn't overheard some mercenaries talking about their latest catch, we would have never even known you were missing."

"He's alive?" Beka inquired.

"Oh yes, the traitor's alive. Not for lack of trying though. It's a good thing Goodwin responded to the brawl in front of the Dove today, because otherwise I'd be in jail and he'd be dead. He's been arrested as an accomplice to attempted rape and conspiracy to murder. "

He kneeled in the kennel, tussled up and bound. Beka had a moment of déjà vu, remembering the first time they'd had a conversation, in a back alley with him tied up and her team around her. One arm in a sling, she wrapped the other around a cold, corroded iron bar. The murk of the pen seemed to dye Viktor's flaxen locks a dull brown, turning him into nothing more than the man he worked for. She thought back a couple months, when this man had once chastised his brother for not writing home.

"What happened to you?" Beka asked, unheard in the hustle and bustle. Viktor stared at the ground, blank faced and unyielding.

Beka turned, recognizing a lost cause when she saw one.

"He doesn't deserve you," a sad whisper echoes into the hallway, barely audible over the cat calls and drunken roars from other cells.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Beka shot back, eyes narrowed.

Viktor's head jerked up in alarm, and she realized she wasn't supposed to have heard the last comment.

For a moment, Viktor paused, the slowly he responded, "You were the best guard in the city. The very best. Do you know what I would do to catch some of the Rats you have? Instead, I'm stuck on desk duty as the Provost's son. I would cut off my own hand to do what you did, and you walked away from it all for _him._"

He paused, but Beka had nothing to say. He continued when he realized she wasn't going to storm out. "This job, this reconnaissance, was my one shot, my only chance to earn myself a spot to the street rotations. If I couldn't get a major lead before mom made it south, I'd be running errands for the rest of my life. When I realized he could still be following you, I thought for sure we'd catch him. But…we didn't have enough resources. We were all so busy guarding you that we couldn't watch for him. I tried to get Rosto to put his men on guard duty, but he didn't know who to trust. He's so new to the throne; he thought people might use you to get to him."

Beka nodded, Rosto had once mentioned the same thing to her when she once asked him to give the Scanran guards a break from duty. "Why did you betray us?" Beka couldn't stop her voice from cracking.

Tears began running down his face, slowly and inexorably. "I…I'm…" Suddenly his hand flailed out, and he pulled his sleeve back. Small cuts ran up and down his arm.

"You're a drug addict," Beka murmured out, and suddenly it all made sense. Viktor's mood swings, his bloodshot eyes, they weren't from exhaustion. She thought of the mannerism she'd had to memorize in training.

"He found out, laced my supply with a poison," Viktor said, anger underlying his voice. "And I end up on the floor of my room, seizing up, flickering in and out of consciousness, when Seth came before me." His voice rose up and up, barking out sentences and growling over, "He had the antidote and I knew that without it I was going to die. I had no idea who he was, he told me the Gods had sent him and that I needed to help him in order to remain in this life and pay penance for my sin of visceral indulgence.

"So I swore to it and received the antidote. Turns out that whatever he mixed my drugs with will never leave my system. I have to take that potion of his everyday I want to live. Otherwise…

"Well, all of that led to this. But…."

Beka couldn't hold her opinions in any longer, "There is no 'but' at the end of this story. You could have stopped this at any moment. Great Mother Goddess, is your dirty little secret really worth my life? You could have told Rosto anytime- the Gods only know how many times you were alone with him during these last few months. Seth never would have known you had leaked information until it was too late."

Somehow, the self-loathing in Viktor's face only increased. "You d- d- don't think I know that?" he stuttered out. "You don't think I realized I could have told my brother?"

Beka felt contaminated watching these emotions pour out of a once proud man. She turned to leave, not even saying goodbye. The pathetic visage of a man which lay in front of her didn't even deserve that much attention.

"I couldn't tell him because then he would have fixed everything!"

Beka kept walking up the stairs, away from the derelict behind her.

Viktor began yelling, as though his plaintive wails would draw her back.

"If he fixed everything, you were lost to him forever! If I saved you, maybe you would have looked me in the eyes for once! Maybe, you'd blush and giggle at my jokes, maybe you'd wait up for me when I was running late! Why does my brother have to win everything I want! What have I done for the Gods to _curse_ me like this! Maybe…"

The door to the cells slammed shut behind Beka and cut off the confession.

She sunk to her knees and wept, till familiar arms wrapped themselves around her.


End file.
